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U  I  B  R  A  R  V 

OK    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIKT    OK 

Received   ^  OCT  29  1892    '  '^^ . 

Accessions  Xo. 
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SELECTED    FROM    MANY    SOURCES. 

VVITH     MANY    ILLUSTRATIONS     FROM     ORIGINAL     DESIGNS 


BY 


T.     MORAN,    MISS     H  ALLOC  K,     CHURCH,    FENN,    PARSONS, 
KENSETT,   JOHNSON,    BOLLES,    Eic. 


O.  '  ' 


V  \: 


^HSJI 


\  !•:  W      \'  (  )  I^  K  : 
SCRIDNER,    ARMSTRONC,    AND    COMl'ANV 

SUCCKSSOKS    Til 

(  IIAKI.ES    SCRH'.NER    AND    COMl'ANA'. 
•873- 


Eatered  accorfii^  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S72,  by 

ScKiB>-ES,  Armstkoxg,  axd  Compant, 
in  the  OSee  of  tlie  librarian  of  Congress,  at  WashingtoQ- 


STEKEOTTPEO    AJID    P  R  I  >  T  E  D     BY 
B.  O.   HOCGHTOBI   AJtD  COMPANY. 


PUBLISHERS"   NOTE. 

The  present  volume  completes  the  reissue  of  Folk-Sokg=.  .r  the  vari- 
ous titles  of  SoxGS  OF  Life  ;  SoxGS  of  Home  ;  Soxgs  of  the  Heart, 
and  Soxgs  of  N'ature.  The  comprehensiveness  and  completeness  of  each 
part,  with  the  numerous  new  forms  and  additional  iI!ustrat?OTi5.  ha-  'X'Th- 
mended  these  selections  anew  to  the  public  fevor.  and  tL 
form  a  choice  library"  of  poetry  and  song. 


CONTENTS. 


A  Foui;sT  Hymn William  Ciil/en  Bnjunl . 

MiG  N"«)NETTE Mnil/  BnidU'jj  . 

TiiK  Dying  Loveii Richard  llennj  Stoddard. 

I'll  1  LOME  I, \ Mallliew  Arnold. 

Lcc Y  Asiiton's  Song S/V  1 1  'allcr  Scott . 

Spring  and  AYinteh Willia-m  Shakcsjwarc. 

Sabina Willidm  Comfrevc. . 

Wind  and  Kain Richard  Ileiirij  Stoddanl . 

The  H;;r,i'UY   Piceon Nathaniel  Parker  Willis. 

'l"nK   Siiki'HEUd's   Son fonnna  liaillie  . 

The  Count's  Little  DAUuiiTEit I//s   R.  S.  Grceuow/h . 

The  Holly  Tree Rol>ert  Sonthej/ . 

TiiB  Nymi'H  coaiplaining  for  the  Death  of  her  Y.wvs..  .Andre  id  Marcell. 

Come,  Beauteous  Day William  /feiin/  Ilinlhiit . 

The  Nkjii  r  I'iix'e Rohert  I/i  rric/c. 

A  Winter  Scene Josiah  Gillierl  Holland. 

I'l"  IV    I  hi;  Tree (icorfje  MaclJonald . 

\\\MS    lo    1  III;   Flowers Horace  Smith. 

Song    ro   May R<nd  Thurlmv . 

Tm;    liiioiMiRA Juiljih   Waldo  /•'mer.iim  . 

Up  Tin;   Aii;v    Moi  ntain William  Allini/ham 

Summer  J)ay.s inoni/woK.t. 

The   Violet Wiiliam  Wctnwre  Stun/. 

Kosalinu's  Mai)Rm;ai Thnmax  T-inhje. 

Virtue (imriie  lli  rhcrl . 

Song t  'linrhx  l\  in'i.ilci/ . 

The   I{h(jor-si|)E Richard  Mtmcklim  Milnes. 

I.nrii;   I?i;i.i 'I'lininiis  Wi sliciKid . 


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CONTENTS. 


TiiK  Fadkd  ViDi.iOT Thomas  Bailty  Ahlrich . 

The  Mountain  IIeart's-eask Bret  Harte. 

Tides B.  H.  . 

To  Primroses Robert  Herrick . 

To  Blossoms Robert  Herrick . 

To  Daffodils Robert  Herrick . 

The  iMo ther  Nightingale Roscoe  after  de  Villegas. 

To  THE  IIuMBLEBEE Ralph  Woldo  EmersoH . 

Of  a'  THE  AiRTS   THE  WiND  CAN  BLAW   Robert  Burns. 

Evening   Alfred  Tennyson . 

The  River-god   to  Amoret John  Fletcher. 

Summer  Longings Denis  Florence  McCarthy. 

Lines  to  an  Indian  Air Percy  Bysshe  Shelley . 

How  thick  the  Wild  Flowers  blow  about  our  Feet R.  C.  Trench. 

The  Cave  of  Silver Fitz-James  O'Brien. 

A  Dirge John  Webster . 

My  Life  is  like  the    Summer  Rose Richard  Henry  Wilde. 

The  Orphan's  Christmas-tree Bayard  Taylor  after  Rueckert. 

Beside  the  Sea William  Winter. 

When  Sparrows  build  and  the  Leaves  break  forth Jeanlngelow. 

Fulfilment Mary  Elizabeth  Dodge . 

Blow,  blow,  thou  Winter  Wind Shakespeare . 

The  Rose Edmund  Waller . 

A  Dead  Rose Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

The  Tiger William  Blake . 

My  River From  the  German  of  Eduard  Moerke. 

Song  of  the  Brook Alfred  Tennyson . 

The  Call George  Darley . 

The  Sea Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 

MiDsr.MMKR Louisa  Bushnell. 

Dirge Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes. 

Drifting Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 

The  Minstrel's  Song  in  Ella Thomas  Chatterton. 

Qua  cursum  Ventus Arthur  Hugh  Clough . 

As   I    LAY  A   Thinking Richard  Harris  Barham. 

To  Cynthia Ben  Jonson. 

To  the  (Jrassiioi'per  and  Cricket Lei<jh  Hunt. 

I'assinu  the  Icebergs Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


PAGE 

The  Axgi.eu's   Wish Izaak  WalOm ....  116 

To  THE  Nightingale Tohn  Miltcn ....  117 

'I'm;  DwiXA Fniin  the  Russian  of  Countess  Orloff. ...  118 

The  Kxight's  To.mu Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge ....  121 

KuLNASATZ,  MY  Keixdeei! From  the  Icelandic \11 

The  Kosebud John  Kihli- 1  :.'.3 

SoxG \ulhor  of"  The  Ajlerglow  " . .  .  .  1  2f) 

Boatman's  Hymn Anonymous. ...  127 

Up-hill Christina  G.  Rossetti. ...  1 29 

If  all  were  Rain  and  never  Sun Christina  G.  Rossetti. . . .  l.'JO 

Wake,  Lady  ! Joanna  Baillie. ...  131 

The  Merry  Lark  was  up  and  Singing Charles  Kingsley ... .  132 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus Ihnry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. . . .  133 

The  Fox-iiunters G.  H.  Barnes. . . .  137 

The  Lover  and  the  Glow-wor.ms Andrew  Marvell. . . .  140 

The  Wee  Green  Neuk Philip  James  Bailey. ...  Ul 

A   Violet Adeline  D.  T.  Whitney. .  . .  143 

The  Songster Edmund  C.  Stcdman 1 43 

SijNG Harriet  McE\cen  Kimball. ...  147 

The  Barefoot  Boy John  Greenleaf  Whittier ....  148 

I'he  liAiLWAY  KiDE Thomas  Dunn  English  ....  l.")2 

Ye  Meaner  Beauties Sir  Henry  Wotton 1 5') 

The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan William   Wordsworth ....  1  .")6 


LlS^r  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


sriiJECT                                                         DRAWX   liV                                          KNCR.WED   BV  PAfJE 

A  Forest  IIvmv Thomas  Morau James  Miller. ...  1 

Mignonette Mary  A.  Ilallock T.  P.  Davis. ...  G 

Wind  AND  Kai\ Ken.sett Antlioiiy. . . .  14 

The  Colnt's  Lnri.i;  Dai  i.iiti;I£ 

"  Slow  moved  the  prcat  procession  " Alfred  Kapjies Nichols. ...  19 

"  Laid  his  hand  on  liis  first-born's  head  ".  .Alfred  Kappes Wcvill ....  20 

"Mid  flowers  and  sunlight  there" Alfred  Kajipcs Jiiengliiii;. . . .  21 

"  As  a  play-ground  that  smilinj;  e'lrden  ".  .Alfred  Kajipes MacDonald. ...  22 

"  O'er  the  pray  old  German  city  " Alfred  Kappes 2.'i 

Ih MX  to    i he   I" low f. us C.  ('.  (iriswold ."3.3 

The  Fairies IJcUew Cox.  ...  41 

The  Brooks iih; Smillie Anthony. . . .  .'JO 

Evening Church Hohhctt  &  Iloojier. ...  67 

Lines  to  an  Lndian  Air Leon  Job I'xiMictt  .'^  niiii])er. ...  72 

The  Orpiian'.s  Ciiristmas-trke 

"  Before  each  house  he  stood  " Thomas  Moraii \niiiu  ....  78 

"  Their  Christmas  presents  all  divide  " Alfred  Kap])es Nichols 79 

"  It  seemed  to  him  a  haj)]iy  dieani  " .Mfrccl   Kapjx's 82 

When  Sparrows  huii.d .Mary  A.  Ilalhjck Boyert .  .  -  I 

Song  of  the  Brook 

"  I  chaticr  over  stony  ways  " Smillie Cox. .  . .  IM 

"  I  nn)V(;  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  liappy  lovers  " Ilennessy ^\'-  ■'    Linton  ....  '.Mi 

QtA  ci:rsi;m  Venti;s Parsons I<angridge. ...  H)7 

Passing  the  Icei!E1i(;8 i-'cim Hayes. ...  1 14 

The  Angler's  Wish \Var(! Wunl. ...  lit; 

Tim;   Knight's  Tdmu l'"ciin    Ward  .  .    .  121 

xi 


zu 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


SUBJECT                                                         BRAWN   DY                                         ENGRAVED    BY  PAGE 

]?.)ATMAx's  ITymx Parsons Langride. ...  128 

U,.-nii.L AVhitney N.  Orr  &   Co....  129 

Wake,  Lady  ! Tenn Ward ....  131 

The  Fox-iiunters 

"The  snow  lies  fresli  on  Clicster  Hill  " Bolles Aiinin 1.37 

"  Beside  a  roaring  hickory  Maze  " Bollcs Harrol 1 39 

The  Barefoot  Boy Jolmson Andrew  .&  Filnicr 148 

The  Railway  Ride Thomas  Moran James  Miller. ...  153 


AUTOGRAPHS. 


Fare. 

To  THE  IIlmbleuee Emerson Title 

A  Winter  Scene Holhunl .13 

The  Mountain   Heart's-eask H-.ute '>7 

A    \'i<)I.kt Wliitncv 143 


A    I-OIIHS'I'    IIVMN. 

TlIK  proves  uriw  (IimTs  first  tcniplt'S. 
Kvc.   liKlli    li';ii-|lf(l 


A    FOREST   HYMN. 

To  lu'w    the  shaft,  nnd  lay  tlie  architrave, 

And  spread  tlie  roof  above  them  —  ere  he  framed 

The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 

The  sound  of  anthems  ;  in  the  darkling  wood, 

Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 

And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 

And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 

Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influences 

Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 

And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 

Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 

Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 

All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 

His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 

And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah,  why 

Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 

God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 

Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 

That  our  frail  hands  have  raised?     Let  me,  at  least, 

Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood. 

Offer  one  hymn  —  thrice  happy,  if  it  find 

Acceptance  in  His  ear. 

Father,  thy  hand 
H:itli  reared  tliese  venerable  columns,  thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  fortlnvith,  rose 
All   those  fiiir  ranks  of  trees.     They,  in  thy  sun. 
Budded,  and  shook   their  green  leaves  in  fhy  breeze, 
And  shot  toward  licaAcii.     The  century-living  crow 
Whose  birth   was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 


A    FORK  ST    IIYMX. 

Among  llicir  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 

As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 

Fit  shrine  for  hnnd^le  worshipper  to  hold 

Communion  with  his  IVIaker.     These  dim  vaults. 

These  winding  aisles,  of  liumau  pomp  or  pride 

Report  not.     No  fantastic  carvings  show 

The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 

Of  thy  fair  works.      But  thou  art  here  —  thou  fill'sfc 

The  solitude.      Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 

That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees 

In  music  :  thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath 

That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place 

Comes,  scarcel}'  felt  :  the  barky  trunks,  thci  ground, 

The  fresh  moist  ground,  are   all  instinct  with  thc(\ 

Here  is  continual  worship  ;  —  Nature,  here, 

In  the  tranquillity  that  thou  dost  love. 

Enjoys  thy  presence.     Noiselessly,  around, 

From  ])ercli  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 

Passes  ;  and  3'on  clear  spring,  that,  midst  its  herbs, 

Wells  softly  forth  and  wandering  steeps  the  roots 

Of  half  tlie  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 

Of  all   the  good  it  does.     Thou  hast  not  left 

Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  these  shades, 

Of  thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 

Are  here  to  speak  of  thee.     This  mighty  oak  — 

By  whose  iminoval)l('  stem  I  stand  and  simmu 

Almost  aniiihil;itc(l  —  not  a   ])riiic(', 

In  all    that    |iroii(l   old    world   bcvoiid   the  d(>cp. 

E'er   wore   his  crown   as   loftily   as  he 

Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves   with   whicli 

Thv   haml    has  griK'ed   him.      Nestled    at    his   root 


A   FOREST   IIYMX. 

Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  gLare 
Of  the  broad  sun.     That  deHcate  forest  flower, 
With  scented  breath  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 
Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould, 
An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
That  are  the  soul  of  this  great  universe. 

INIy  heart  is  awed  within  me  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  mu'acle  that  still  goes  on, 
In  silence,  round  me  —  the  perpetual  work 
Of  thy  creation,  finished,  yet  renewed 
Forever.     Written  on  thy  works  I  read 
The  lesson  of  th}^  own  eternity. 
Lo  I  all  grow  old  and  die  —  but  see  again, 
How  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  presses  —  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youtli 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  that  their  ancestors 
INIoulder  beneath  them.     O,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms :  upon  her  bosoni  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries. 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies 
And  yet  shall  lie.     Life  mocks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch-enemy  Death  —  yea,  seats  himself 
Upon  the  tyrant's  throne  —  the  sepulchre. 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
]\Iakes  his  own  nourishment.     For  he  came  forth 
From  thine  own  bosom,  and  shall  liavo  no  end. 

There  have  been  holy  men  who  hid  themsel\i'.= 
Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 


A  FOREST   HYMX. 

Their  lives  to  tliouglit  and  prayer,  till   tlicv  outlived 

The  generation  born  ^Yith  them,  nor  seemed 

Less  aged  than  the  hoary  trees  and  rocks 

Around  them  ;  —  and  there  have  been  holy  men 

Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 

But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 

Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure 

M}^  feeble  virtue.     Here  its  enemies, 

The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 

And  tremble  and  are  still.     O  God !  Avhen  thou 

Dost  scare  the  world  Avith  tempests,  set  on  fire 

The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill. 

With  all  the  waters  of  the  fii-mament, 

TIk;  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  woods 

And  drowns  the  villages  ;  when,  at  thy  call. 

Uprises  the  great  deep  and  throws  himself 

Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 

Its  cities  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power. 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by  ? 

O,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 

Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need   the  wrath 

Of  the  nuul  unchained  elements  to  teach 

Who  rules  them,      lie  it  ours  to  meditate, 

In   these  calm  shades,   thy   mihlcr  majesty, 

And  to  tilt'  1  leant iful  order  of  thy   works 

I^earn  to  conform  the. order  of  our  lives. 

AVii.i.iAM  L'lli.kn  1)i;y.\nt. 


/^> 


^  §m 


mGNONETTE. 

•"  Your  qualities  surpass  your  charms."  —  Language  of  Flowers. 

I  PASSED  beiore  her  "-arden  ij^ate  : 

Slie  stood  among  her  roses, 
And  stooped  a  little  from  the  state 

In  which  Iier  pride  reposes, 
To  make  lier  flowers  a  graceful  plea 
For  luring  and  delavino-  me. 

(J 


MI(;XO>s'KTTE. 

"  When  suinmer  blossoms  fade  so  soon," 

She  said   witli   ^^'inning  sweetness, 

"  Who  does  not  wear  the  badge  of  June 

Lacks  something  of  completeness. 

JNIy  garden  \yelcomes  you  to-day, 

Come  in  and  gather,   while  you  may." 

I  entered  in :  she  led  me  through 

A  maze  of  leafy  arches. 
Where  velvet-purple  pansies  grew 

Beneath  the  sighing  larches,  — 
A  shadowy,  still,  and  cool  retreat 
That  gave  excuse  for  lingL'ring  feet. 

She  paused  ;  pulK-d  down  a  trailing  vine  ; 

And  twisted  round  her  fino-er 
Its  Starr}-  sprays  of  jessamine. 

As  one  A\ho  seeks  to  lino-pr. 
But  I  smiled  lightly  in  her  face. 
And  passed  on  to  the  open  space. 

Passed  many  a  flower  bed  fitly  set 

In  trim  ami  bloDmiiig  order. 
And   pliiiked  at  last  some  mignonette 

'i'liat  strayed  along  the  border; 
A  simple  thing  flmf    liad  no  bloom. 
And  but  a  faint  and  far  perfume. 

She  wondered  why  I  would  not  choose 

Tliat  drciimv   auiar\llis, — 


8  MIGNONETTE. 

"  And  could  I  really,  then,  refuse 
Those  heavenly  white  lilies ! 
And  leave  ungathered  on  the  slope 
This  passion-breathing  heliotrope  ?  " 

She  did  not  know  —  what  need  to  tell 
So  fair  and  fine  a  creature  ?  — 

That  there  was  one  who  loved  me  well 
Of  widely  different  nature  ; 

A  little  maid  whose  tender  youth. 

And  innocence,  and  simple  truth, 

Had  won  my  heart  with  qualities 
That  far  surpassed  her  beauty. 

And  held  me  with  unconscious  ease 
Enthralled  of  love  and  duty  ; 

Whose  modest  graces  all  were  met 

And  syniboled  in  my  mignonette. 

I  passed  outside  her  garden-gate, 
And  left  her  proudly  smiling  : 
,  Her  roses  bloomed  too  late,  too  late 

She  saw,  for  my  beguiling. 
I  wore  instead  —  and  wear  it  yet  — 
The  single  spray  of  mignonette. 

Its  fragrance  greets  me  unaware, 

A  vision  clear  recalling 
Of  shy,  sweet  eyes,  and  drooping  hair 

In  girlish  tresses  falling, 


THE   DYING   LOVER. 

And  little  hands  so  white  and  fine 
That  timidly  creep  into  mine  ; 

As  she  —  all  ignorant  of  the  arts 

That  wiser  maids  are  plying  — 
Has  crept  into  my  heart  of  hearts 

Past  doubting  or  denying ; 
Therein,  while  suns  shall  rise  and  set, 
To  bloom  unchanged,  my  Mignonette  ! 

Mary  Dradi.ev. 


THE   DYING   LOVER. 

The  grass  that  is  under  me  now 

A\'ill  soon  be  over  me  sweet ! 
When  you  walk  this  way  again, 

I  shall  not  hear  your  feet. 

You  may  walk  this  way  attain 

And  shed  your  tears  like  dew: 
They  will  be  no  more  to  me,  then, 

Than  mine  are  now  to  you, 

Richard   IIkxry  Stoddard. 


PHILOMELA. 

Hark  !  all,  the  Nightingale  ! 

The  tawny-throated ! 

Hark  !  fi-om  that  moonlit  cedar  what  a  burst ! 

What  triumph  !  hark — what  pain  ! 

O  wanderer  from  a  Grecian  shore, 

Still,  after  many  years,  in  distant  lands. 

Still  nourishing  in  thy  bewildered  brain 

That  wild,  unquenched,  deep-sunken,  old-world  pain ! 

Say,  will  it  never  heal  ? 
And  can  this  fragrant  lawn, 
With  its  cool  trees,  and  night, 
And  the  sweet,  tranquil  Thames, 
And  moonshine,  and  the  dew. 
To  thy  racked  heart  and  brain 

Afford  no  balm? 

Dost  thou  to-night  behold. 
Here,  through  the  moonlight  on  this  English  grass, 
The  unfl'iendly  palace  in  the  Thracian  wild  ? 

Dost  thou  again  peruse. 
With  liot  cheeks  and  seared  eyes. 
The  too  clear  web,  and  thy  dumb  sister's  shame"/ 

Dost  thou  once  more  essay 
Thy  flight;  and  feel  come  over  thee. 
Poor  fiigitive,  the  feathery  change. 
Once  more  ;  and  once  more  make  resomid, 

ID 


LUCY  ASIITON-S  SUNG.  11 

With   1()\L'  and  hate,  triumpli  and  aixony, 
Lone  DauHs,  and  the  high  Cephisian  vale? 

Listen,  Eugenia ! 

How  thick  the  bursts  come  crowding  througli  the  leaves  I 

Again  —  thou  hearest  ? 

Eternal  passion  ! 

Eternal  pain ! 

Mattiif.w  Aknold. 


LUCY    ASHTON'S    SOXC. 

Look  not  thou  on   Beauty's  cliaiinini:'  ; 
.Sit  thou   still   when   kings  are   arming  ; 
Taste   not   when   the   wine-cup  glistens  ; 
Speak   not    when   the    peo[)le   listens  ; 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer  ; 
From   the   red  gold   keep  thy  tingi-r  : 
Vacant  heart  and  hand  and  eve 
Easv   live,   and   (juiet  die. 

Siu    Wai.tki:    S(<m. 


srUING   AND   WINTER. 

I. 
When   daisies  \ne{\,  and  violets  blue. 

And  lady-smocks  all  silver-white, 
And  cuckoo-biuls  of  yellow  hue, 

Do  paint  the  meadows  with  delight, 
The  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 
Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sino;s  he  : 

Cuckoo  ! 
Cuckoo,  cuckoo!  —  O  word  of  fear, 
Un])leasing  to  a  married  ear! 

When  shepherds  pipe  on  oaten  straws, 
And  merry  larks  are  ploughmen's  clocks. 

When  turtles  tread,  and  rooks,  and  daws. 
And  maidens  bleach  their  summer  smock? 

Tiie  cuckoo  then,  on  every  tree. 

Mocks  married  men,  for  thus  sinss  he : 
Cuckoo  ! 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo!  —  O  word  of  fear, 

Unpleasing  to  a  married  ear! 

II. 

When  icicles  hang  by  the  Avail, 

And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 

And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall. 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail, 

1-2 


SABiNA.  18 


When   l)l()(i(]   is  ni[)pe(l,  and  ways  be  fonl, 
Then   nightly  siiiirs  tlie  stariiif:  owl  • 

'J'o-who  ! 
Tu-whit,   to-w]io  !  —  a  merry  note, 
While  greasy  Jean  doth   keel  the  pot. 

When  all   aloud  the  wind  dotli  blow. 

And  oonghino;  droAvns  the  ]iarson's  saw, 
And   birds  sit  broodinu;  in  the  snow. 

And   ]\Iai-ian's  nose  looks  red  and  i-aw  ; 
When   roasted  ci'abs  hiss  in  the  bowl, 
Then  nifjhtlv  sinirs  the  starinir  owl : 

To- who ! 
Tu-whit,   t(>-wlio  ! — a  merry  note. 
While  gi-easy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot. 


SlIAKKSTKAIIi;. 


SABINA. 

See,  see!     She  wakes  —  Sabina  wakes! 

And  now  the  sun  beo-ins  to  rise: 
Less  glorious  is  the  morn  t])at  breaks 

From   his  bright  beams  than  her  fair  ej'es. 

With  light   united,   Day   they  give  ; 

But  difierent  fiites  ere   night  fulfill : 
How  many  by  his  warmth  will  live! 

How   many   will   iier  coldness   kill  ! 

WlI.I.IAM     CoXCiUKVK. 


WIXD   AND   RAIN. 

Rattle  tlie  window.  Winds  I 

Rain,  driji  on   the  panes  ! 
There  are  tears  and  sio;hs  in  our  hearts  and  eves. 

And  a  -wearv  weio-lit   on   our  brains. 


.iSfc.uiS''- 


L'he  irrav  sea  heaves  and  heaves. 

On  tlie  dreary  flats  of  sand  ; 
And  the  blasted  limb  of  the  churchyard   vew. 

It  shakes  like  a  'ihostly  hand  I 


The  dead  are  engulfed  beneath  it, 

Sunk  in  the  grassy  waves  ; 
I>ut  we  have  more  dead  in  our  hearts  to-day 
riian  the   Earth   in   all   her  graves  ! 

RiciiAijo  IIkni:y  SroDDAiti) 
14 


THE   BELFRY  PIGEON. 

On  the  cross-Lcam  under  the  Okl  South  bell 
The  nest  of  a  pigeon  is  buikled  well. 
In  summer  and  winter  that  bird  is  there, 
Out  and  in  witli  the  mornin";  air. 
I  love  to  see  him  track  the  street, 
With  his  warv  eye  and  active  feet  : 
Ami  I  often   watch  him  as  he  springs. 
Circling  the  steeple  Avith  easy  wings, 
Till  across  the  dial  his  shade  has  passed, 
And  the  belfiy  edge  is  gained  at  last. 
'Tis  a  bird  I  love,  with  its  brooding  note, 
And  the  trembling  throb  in  its  mottled  throat ; 
Thei'e's  a  human  look  in  its  swellinix  breast. 
And  the  gentle  curve  of  its  lowly  crest ; 
And  I  often  stop  with  the  fear  I  feel, 
He  runs  so  close  to  the  rapid  wheel. 

Whatever  is  rung  on  that  noisy  Ijell, 
Chime  of  the  hour,  or  funeral  knell, 
The  dove  in  the  belfry  must  hear  it  well. 
When  the  tongue  swino;s  out  to  the  nii(Ini<d)t  moon, 
When  the  sexton  cheerly  rings  for  nixm, 
When   tin.'  clock  .strikes  clear  at  moi'iiing  liixlit. 
When   tlic  clilld  is  waked  with  "nine  at  night,"" 
When   the  chimes  ]ilay  soft  in   the   Sabbath   air, 
KillinLT  tlic  s])irit   with   tones  of  pravcr, 


li;  THE   BELFRY   PIGEON. 

Whatever  tale  in  the  bell  is  heard, 
He  broods  on  his  folded  feet  unstirred, 
Or,  rising  half  in  his  rounded  nest, 
He  takes  the  time  to  smooth  his  breast ; 
Then  drops  again,  with  filmed  eyes, 
And  sleeps  as  the  last  vibration  dies. 

Sweet  bird  !  I  would  that  I  could  be 
A  hermit  in  the  crowd  like  thee  ! 
With  wings  to  fly  to  wood  and  glen, 
Thy  lot,  like  mine,  is  cast  with  men ; 
And  daily,  with  unwilling  feet, 
I  tread,  like  thee,  the  crowded  street ; 
But,  unlike  me,  when  day  is  o'er, 
Thou  canst  dismiss  the  world,  and  soar ; 
Or,  at  a  half-felt  wish  for  rest. 
Canst  smooth  the  feathers  on  thy  breast, 
And  drop,  forgetful,  to  thy  nest. 

I  would  that,  in  such  wings  of  gold, 
I  could  my  weary  heart  upfold  ; 
I  would  I  could  look  down  unmoved, 
(Unloving  as  I  am  unloved,) 
And  while  the  world  throngs  on  beneath. 
Smooth  down  my  cares  and  calmly  breathe  : 
And  never  sad  with  others'  sadness. 
And  never  glad  with  others'  gladness, 
Listen,  unstirred,  to  knell  or  chime. 
And,  lapped  in  quiet,  bide  my  time. 

Nathaniel  Pakkkh  Willis. 


THE   SHEPHERD'S   SON. 

Thk  cTowan  irlitters  on  tlie  sward. 
The  lavrock's  in  tlie  skv, 

And  Colley  on  my  ])laid  keeps  ward, 
And   time  is  nassino;  bv. 
()  no  !  sad  and  slow  I 
I  hear  nae  welcome  sound  ; 

The  shadow  of  our  trystino;  bush. 
It  wears  sae  slowly  round. 

My  sheep-bell  tinkles  from  the  west. 

]My  landjs  are  bleating  near ; 
I>ut  still   the  sound  that  I  lo'e   best 

Alack  !  I  canna  hear. 

< )  no  I  sad  and  slow  ! 

The  shadow  lingers  still, 
And  like  a  lanely  ghaist  I  stand, 

^Vnd  croon  upon  the  hill. 

I   hear  below  the  water  roar, 

The  mill   with  clackino;  din  ; 
And  Luckv  scoldiuii  frae  her  door. 

To  bring  the  bairnies  in. 

O   no  !   sad  and  slow  ! 

These  are  nae  sounds  for  me  ; 
The  shadow  of  our  ti-ystinif  bush. 

It  creeps  sae  drearilie. 
»  17 


18  THE    SIIEPHEllD'S   SON. 

I  coft  yestreen  frae  chapman  Tarn 

A  snood  o'  bonnie  blue, 
And  promised,  when  our  trysting  cam. 

To  tie  it  round  her  brow. 

O  no  !  sad  and  slow  ! 

The  time  it  winna  pass ; 
The  shadow  of  that  weary  thorn 

Is  tethered  on  the  grass. 

O  now  I  see  her  on  the  way  I 

She's  past  the  witches'  knowe ; 
She's  climbing  up  the  brownie's  brae  ; 

INIy  heart  is  in  a  lowe  ! 

O  no  !  'tis  not  so ! 

'Tis  glaumrie  I  liae  seen  ; 
The  shadow  of  the  hawthorn  bush 

Will  move  nae  mair  till  e'en. 

Mv  book  of  o;race  I'll  trv  to  read, 

Though  conned  wi'  little  skill ; 
When  Colley  barks  I'll  raise  my  head. 

And  find  her  on  the  hill, 

O  no  !  sad  and  slow  ! 

The  time  will  ne'er  be  gane  ; 
The  shadow  of  the  trysting  bush 

Is  fixed  like  ony  stano. 

Joanna   Baillie. 


THE   COUNT'S   LITTLE   DAUGHTER:   A   LEGEND   OF  NUUEMBEllG. 


'eii  the  gray  old  Gerinnu  city 
The  sluulow  of  mourning  l:iy  : 
More  tenderly  kissed  each  mother 
Her  little  child  that  day. 


With  a  (Iccpcr  prjiyer  eaith   father 

Laid   liis   Imiid   on   his  first-born's  he;ul, 

For  in   the  c;is(Ie  above  them 

L:iy   the  Count's   little  daughter,  dead. 


Slow   moved   till'  great    procession 
Down    from    tlic   casllc  gate, 

'i"o    wlicri'    llif    lilai-k-ilra|>cd   culhedral 
r>la/,c(l    in    liiiicreal   slate. 


20  THE  COUNT'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER:  A  LEGEND  OF  NUKEMBEUG 


And  they  laid  the  little  child  down, 
In  her  robes  of  satin  and  gold, 

To  sleep  with  her  dead  forefathers 
In  their  stone  crypt,  dark  and  cold. 

At  midnight  the  Countess  lay  weeping 
'Neath  her  gorgeous  canopy, 

She  heard  as  it  were  a  rustling, 
And  little  feet  come  nigh. 

She  started  up  in  the  darknass. 
And  with  yearning  gesture  wild, 

She  cried,  "Has  tlio  Father  heard  me? 
Art  thou  come  back,  my  child  ?  " 


Then  a  child's  voice,  soft  and  pleading, 
Said,  "  I've  come,  O  mother  dear. 


Tin:  (oi'NT-s  i.rriij-:  daughter:  a  i.kgend  of  mki:mi5kk(;.    lil 

Ti»  :tsk   it'  you   will  not    lay   mo 

\\'li('r('  the   little  birds  1  can  hear;  — 


•'The  little  birtls  in  their  singing, 
And  the  children  in  their  plnv. 
Where  tlu;  sun  shines  bright  on  the 
All  the  loni;  summer  day. 


lowers 


"Jn   the  stoiu;  cryj)t   I    Vw   weeping, 
For  I   cunnitt  choose  but  fear, 
Such    waitings  dire  and  ceaseless 

From    the  dead  Counts*   coHins   1   hear 


*■'  And    liii    all    aliiM!'.    dear   mot  lici-. 
No   otiii'r   cliilil    is   there  ; 
(  ),     la\'     me    to    slec|i    III     1  lie    SIlllslllMe 

Where   all    i^    luiiiht    and    lair. 


22     THE  COUNT'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER  :  A  LEGEND  OF  NUREMBERG. 

"  I  cannot  stay,  dear  mother, 

I  must  back  to  the  moans  and  gloom  ; 
I  must  lie  there,  fearing  and  weeping, 
Till  you  take  me  from  my  tomb." 

Then  the  Countess  roused  her  husband. 

Saying,   "  Give  to  me,  I  pray. 
That  spot  of  green  by  the  deep  fosse, 

Where  the  children  love  to  play. 

"  For  our  little  one  lies  weeping, 

And  asks,  for  Christ's  dear  sake, 
That  'mid  song  and  sunlight  and  flowers. 
Near  children  her  grave  we  make." 


And  the  green  spot  was  made  a  garden. 
Blessed  by  priests  with  book  and  prayer, 


THE   HOLLY   TREE. 

And  tlii'V  laid  the  Count's  little  dauo'liter 
'  Mid  flowers  and  sunliu'lit  tliere. 

And  to  the  children  forever 
The  Count  and  Countess  gave 

As  a   play-ground,  that  smiUng  garden 
By  their  little  daughter's  grave. 


28 


INIliS.    R.    S.    (Jlir.KXOL'GH. 


/''^>^   OP 


s 


THE    HOLLY    TREE. 


O   KKADKU  !  linst  thou  ever  stood  to  see 

Tlic  holly  tree? 
The  eyi-  that  contemplates  it  well,  perceives 

Its  glossy  leaves 
Ordered  hy  an   intelligence  so  wise 
As  nii;j:ht  confound  the  ath(!ist's  sophistries. 


■l-[  THE   HOLLY   TREP:. 

Below,  a  circling  fence,  its  leaves  are  seen 

Wrinkled  and  keen  ; 
No  grazing  cattle,  through  their  prickly  roimd, 

Can  reach  to  wound ; 
But  as  they  grow  where  nothing  is  to  fear, 
Smooth  and  unarmed  the  pointless  leaves  appear. 

I  love  to  view  these  thino;s  with  curious  eves. 

And  morahze ; 
And  in  this  wisdom  of  the  holly  tree 

Can  emblems  see 
Wherewith,  jjerchance,  to  make  a  pleasant  rhyme. 
One  which  may  profit  in  the  after-time. 

Thus,  though  abroad,  perchance,  I  might  a])pear 

Harsh  and  austere. 
To  those  who  on  my  leisure  would  intrude 

Reserved  and  rude ; 
Gentle  at  home,  amid  my  friends,   Fd  be, 
Like  the  high  leaves  u\)on  the  holly  tree. 

And  should  my  youth,  as  youth  is  apt    I   know, 

Some  harshness  show. 
All  vain  asperities  I,  day  by  day. 

Would  wear  away, 
Till  the  smooth  temper  of  my  age  should  be 
Like  the  high  leaves  upon  the  holly  tree. 

And  as,  when  all  the  sunnner  trees  are  seen 
>  So  bright  and  green. 


THE  XVMril  CO.Ml'LAIXING  FOi;  THE  DEATH  OF  HKlt   FAWN.  25 

The  liolly  leaves  their  fadeless  hues  display 

Less  bright  than  tliev  ; 
But  when  the  bare  and  wintry  woods  we  see, 
What  then  so  cheerful  as  the  holly  tree  ? 

So,  serious  should  my  youth  appear  among 

Tile  thoughtless  throng  : 
So  would  I  seem,  amid  the  young  and  gay, 

More  grave  than  they ; 
Tluit  in  niv  age  as  cheerful  I  might  be 
As  the  green   winter  of  the  hollv  tree. 

RoiiKHT    SOUTHEY. 


THE   NYMPH   COMPLAINING   FOR   THE   DEATH   OF    HEIi    FAWN 

The  wanton  troopers,  riding  by. 

Have  shot  my  fawn,  and  it  will  die. 

Ungentle  men  !  they  cannot  thrive, 

Who  killed  thee.     Thou  ne'er  didst,  alive. 

Them  any  harm  ;  alas  !  nor  could 

Thy  death  yet  do  them  any  good. 

Tm  sure  I  never  wished  them   ill. 

Nor  do  I  for  all   this,  nor  will  ; 

I>ut,  if  iny  simple  pi'ayers  may  vol 

Prevail   with   Heaven  to  forget 

Thy  murder,   I   will  join  my  tears, 

Rather  than  fail.     But  O,  mv  fears  I 


26  THE  NYMPH  COMPLAINING  FOR  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  FAWN. 

It  cannot  die  so.     Heaven's  Kino; 

Keeps  register  of  everything, 

And  notliing  may  we  use  in  vaiji ; 

Even  beasts  must  be  witli  justice  slain, 

Else  men  are  made  their  deodands. 

Though  they  should  wash  their  guilty  hands 

In  this  Avarm  life-blood,  Avhich  doth  part 

From  thine  and  wound  me  to  the  heart. 

Yet  could  they  not  be  clean  —  their  stain 

Is  dyed  in  such  a  purple  grain  ; 

There  is  not  such  another  in 

The  world,  to  offer  for  their  sin. 

Inconstant  Sylvio !  Avhen  yet 
I  had  not  found  him  counterfeit. 
One  morning  (I  remember  well), 
Tied  in  this  silver  chain  and  bell, 
Gave  it  to  me.     Nay,  and  I  know 
What  he  said  then  —  I'm  snre  I  do : 
Said  he,  "  Look  how  yqjir  huntsman  here 
Hath  tauo;ht  a  fawn  to  hunt  his  dear  I" 
But  Sylvio  soon  had  me  beguiled : 
This  waxed  tame,  while  he  grew  wild ; 
And,  quite  regardless  of  my  smart, 
Left  me  his  fawn,  but  took  his  heart. 

Thenceforth,  I  set  myself  to  play 
jNIy  solitary  time  away, 
With  this ;  and,  very  Avell  content, 
Could  so  mine  idle  life  have  spent. 
For  it  was  full  of  sport,  and  liccht 
Of  foot  and  heart,  and  did  invite 
i\Ic  to   its  game.     It  seemed  to  bless 


Tin:  XY.AIl'lI  COMPLAINING  FOR  THE  DEATH  OF  HEIl  FAWN.  27 

Itself  in  me  ;  liow  could  I   less 

Thau  love  it?     01    I  cannot  be 

Unkind  t"   a  beast  that  loveth   me. 
Had  it  lived  lon^,  I  do  not  know 

Whether  it,  too,  nn'oht  have  done  so 

As  Svlvio  did  —  his  vr\{\s  niiiiht  be 

Perhaps  as  false,  or  more,  than  he. 

For  I  am  sure,  for  aught  that   I 

Could  in  so  short  a  time  esjiy, 

Thy  love  Avas  far  more  better  than 

The  love  of  false  and  cruel   man. 
With  sweetest  milk,  and  sugar,  first 

I   it  at  mine  own  fingers  nursed  ; 

And  as  it  grew,  so  every  day 

It  waxed  more  white  and  sweet  than  they. 

It  had  so  sweet  a  breath  I  and  ofl 

I  blushed  to  see  its  foot  more  sofl 

And  white — shall   I  say  tlian   my  hand? 

Nay  !    any  lady's  of  the  land. 

It  is  a  wondrous  thino;  how  Heet 
'Twas,  on  those  little  silver  feet ! 
With  what  a  i)retty,  skipping  grace 
It  oft  wouKl  challenn;e  me  the  race  ! 
And  when  't  had  left  me  far  away, 
'Twould  stay,  and  run   again,  and  stay ; 
For  it  was  nimbler,  nnich,  than   hinds, 
And  trod  as  if  on  the  tour  winds. 

I   have  a  garden  of  my  <nvn, 
But  so   with  roses  overgrown. 
And  lilies,   that  you  would  it  guess 
To  be  a  little  wilderness  ; 


28  THK  NYMFII  COiMPLALS'ING  FOR  THP:  DEATH  OF  HER  FAWN. 

And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 

It  only  loved  to  be  there. 

Amoncr  the  lieds  of  lilies  I 

Have  sought  it  oft,  where  it  should  lie  j 

Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise, 

Find  it,  although  before  mine  eves : 

For  in  the  flaxen  lilies'  shade 

It  like  a  bank  of  lilies  laid. 

Upon  the  roses  it  Avould  feed. 

Until  its  lips  ev'n  seemed  to  bleed ; 

And  then  to  me  'twould  boldly  trip, 

And  print  those  roses  on  my  lip. 

But  all  its  chief  dehVht  was  still 

On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill, 

And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 

In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold. 

Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 

Lilies  without,  roses  within. 

0  help !   O  help  !  I  see  it  faint. 
And  die  as  calmly  as  a  saint ! 

See,  how  it  weeps  !  the  tears  do  come, 
Sad,  slowly,  dropping  like  a  gum. 
So  weeps  the  wounded  balsam  ;  so 
The  holy  frankincense  doth  flow  ; 
The  brotherless  Heliades 
Melt  in  such  amber  tears  as  these. 

1  in  a  golden  vial  will 

Keep  these  two  ciystal  tears,  and  fill 
It,  till  it  do  overflow,  with  mine  ; 
Xhen  place  it  in  Diana's  shrine. 

Now  my  sweet  fawn  is  vanished  to 


COME,   I'.EAUTEOI'S   DAY.  29 

Whither  the  swans  and  turtles  go, 

In  fair  Elysium  to  endure, 

With  milk-white  lambs,  and  ermins  puro. 

O  do  not  run  too  fast  I  for  I 

Will  but  bespeak  thy  grave  —  autl  die. 

First,  my  unhappy  statue  shall 
Be  cut  in  marble  ;  and  withal, 
Let  it  be  weeping  too.      But  there 
Tir  engraver  sure  his  art  may  sj)are  ; 
For  I  so  truly  thee  bemoan, 
That  I   shall  >veep,  though  I  be  stone. 
Until  my  tears,  still  droo[)ing,  wear 
My  breast,  themselves  engraving  there. 
There  at  my  feet  shalt  tliou  be  laid. 
Of  purest  alabaster  made ; 
For  I  woidd  have  thine  image  be 
Wln'te  as  I  can,  though  not  as  thee. 

AxDiM.w  Makvki.l. 


COME,    BEAUTEOUS   DAY. 

Come,  beauteous  day  ! 
Never  did  lover  on  his  bridal  night 
So  chidr  tliine  over-eaiier  liiflit 

As  I   thy  long  delay  I 


30  COME,    REAUTEOUS   DAY. 

Brincr  me  mv  rest  I 
Never  can  these  sAveet  thorny  roses. 
Whereon  my  heart  reposes, 

Be  into  skimber  pressed. 

Day  be  my  night  1 
Night  hath  no  stars  to  rival  with  her  eyes  ; 
Night  hath  no  peace  hke  his  who  lies 

Upon  her  bosom  white. 

She  chd  transmnte 
This  my  poor  cell  into  a  paradise, 
Gorgeons  with  blossoming  lips  and  dewy  eyes, 

And  all  her  beantv's  fruit. 

Nor  dv;ll  nor  gray 
Seems  to  mine  eyes  this  dim  and  wintry   morn  : 
Ne'er  did  the  rosy  banners  of  the  dawn 

Herald  a  briohter  day. 

Come,  beauteous  day  ! 
Come  !  or  in  sunny  light,  or  storm  eclipse  I 
Bring  me  the  immortal  Summer  of  her  lips  ; 

Then  have  thy  way  I 

William  Hkxky  TIcrlul" 


THE   NIGHT   PIECE. 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worme  lend  tliee. 
The  shooting-starres  attend  tliec ; 

And  the  elves  also, 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Will-o'-th'-Wispe  mislight  thee, 
Nor  snake  nor  slow-wornie  bite  thee  ; 

But  on   thy  way, 

Not  making  stay. 
Since  ffliost  there's  none  t'  affrijiht  thee. 

Let  not  the  darke  thee  cumber ; 
What  though  the  moon  does  slumber  ? 

The  stars  of  the  nio;ht 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 
Like  tapers  cleare,  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee, 
Thus,  thus  to  come  inito  me  ; 

And  when   I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet, 
My  soule  I'll  pour  into  thee! 

RoiiKUT  Hkukfck. 
31 


A   WINTER   SCENE. 

Winter's  wild  bii-thnight  I     In  the  fretful  East 
The  uneasy  wind  moans  with  its  sense  of  cold, 
And  sends  its  sighs  through  gloomy  mountain  gorge, 
Along  the  valley,  u])  tlio  whitening  hill, 
To  tease  the  sighing  spirits  of  the  pines. 
And  waste  in  dismal  Avoods  their  chilly  hfe. 
The  sky  is  dai'k,  and  on  the  huddled  leaves  — 
The  restless,   rustling  leaves  —  sifts  down  its  sleet, 
Till  the  sharp  cr^'stals  pin  them  to  the  earth. 
And  they  grow  still  beneath  the  rising  storm. 
The  roofless  bullock  hugs  the  sheltering  stack, 
•  With   Clinging  head  and  closely  gathered  feet. 
And  waits  with  dumb  endurance  for  the  morn. 
Deep  in  a  gusty  cavern  of  the  barn 
Tilt-   wlili'ss  calf  stands  blatant  at  his  chain; 
^\'ilil('  till-   hiiitc   mother,  pent  within  her  stall, 
Willi   the  wild  stress  of  instinct  goes  distraught, 
And   frets  her  horns,  and  bellows  throuo;h  the  nio-ht. 
The  stream   inins  l)lack  ;  and  the  far  waterfall, 
'J'hat  sang  so  sweetly  through  the  summer  eves. 
Anil   swelled   and   swayed  to   Zephyr's  softest   breath, 
I^eaps   with   a   sullen    mar   the   dark  abyss, 
And   hdwls  its  hoarse  responses  to  the  wind. 
The    mill    is  still.      The   distant    l'act(ir\-. 
That    s\\arnie(l    yestreen    with    many    hn^'ereij    life, 
i\nd   l)ridged  the  river   with  a  huiuhed   bars 
C  33 


34  UP  IN   THE   TREE. 

Of  molten  light,  is  dark,  and  lifts  its  bulk 
With  dim,  uncertain  angles,  to  the  sky. 

Yet  lower  bows  the  storm.     The  leafless  trees 
Lash  their  lithe  limbs,  and  with  majestic  voice, 
Call  to  each  other  through  the  deepening  gloom  ; 
And  slender  trunks  that  lean  on  burly  boughs 
Shriek  with  the  sharp  abrasion ;  and  the  oak. 
Mellowed  in  fibre  by  unnumbered  frosts, 
Yields  to  the  shoulder  of  the  Titan  Blast, 
Foi'sakes  its  poise,  and,  with  a  booming  crash, 
Sweeps  a  fierce  passage  to  the  smothered  rocks. 
And  lies  a  shattered  ruin. 

JosiAH  Gilbert  Holland. 


UP  IN   THE   TREE. 

What  would  you  see,  if  I  took  you  up 

My  little  aerie-stair? 
You  would  see  the  sky  like  a  clear  blue  cup 

Turned  upside  down  in  the  air. 

What  would  you  do,  up  my  aerie-stair, 

In  my  little  nest  on  the  tree  ? 
My  child  with  cries  would  trouble  tlie  air, 

To  get  what  she  could  but  see. 


IIYMX   TO   THE   FLOWERS.  35 

What  would  you  get  in  the  top  of  the  tree, 

For  all  your  crying  and  grief  ? 
Not  a  star  would  you  clutch  of  all  you  see  — 

You  could  only  gather  a  leaf. 

But  when  you  had  lost  your  greedy  grief, 

Content  to  see  from  afar, 
You  would  find  in  your  hand  a  withering  leaf, 


In  vour  heart  a  shining  star, 


Georgk  jSIacDoxald. 


IIY:\rX   TO   THE   FLOWERS. 

Day'-STARS  I  that  ope  your  eyes  with  morn  to  twinkle 

From  rainbow  galaxies  of  earth's  creation, 
And  dt'w-didps  on  her  lonely  altars  sprinkle 

As  a  libation  ! 

Vc   inatiu  worshippers  !  wJio  bending  lowly 

Before  the  uprisen  sun  —  God's  lidless  eye  — 
Throw  from  your  chalices  a  sweet  and  holy 

Incense  on  high  I 


30 


HYMN   TO   THE   FLOWERS. 


Ye  briglit  mosaics  !    that  with  storied  beauty 

The  floor  of  Nature's  temple  tessellate  : 
What  numerous  emblems  of  instructive  cluty 

Your  forms  create  ! 


'Neath  cloistered  bouiilis,  each  floral  bell   that  swinireth. 

And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air, 
Makes  Sabbath  iu  the  flelds,  ami  ever  riuiieth 

A  call  to  ])rayer. 


IIY.MN   TO   THE  FLOWERS.  37 

Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and  column 

Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal   hand, 
But  to  that  fane,   most  catholic  and  soltMun, 

Which   God   hatii   planned  : 

To  that  cathedral,   boundless  as  our  wonder, 

Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon  supply  — 
Its  choir  the   winds  and   waves,  its  oroan   thundei". 

Its  dome  the   skv. 


There  —  as  in  solitude   and  shade  I   wander 

Through  the  green  aisles,  or,  stretched  npoi\  the  sod. 
Awed  by  the  silence,  reverently  ponder 

The   wavs  of  God  — 


Your  voiceless   lips,   O  Flowers,   are   living  [)reac!iers. 

Each  cup  a  pulpit,  and  each  leaf  a  book, 
Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers 

From   loneli(!st  nook. 


Floral  Apostles  I    that  in  dewy  splendor 

"  Weep  without  woe,  and  blush  without  a  crime,' 
O   may  I  dee[)ly  learn,  and  ne'er  surnnder. 

Your  lore  sublime  I 


"  Thou   wert  not,  Solniiiuii,   in    ;ill    thv   ulnry. 

Arrayed,*'   the   lilies  cry,   "in    robes   hke   ours: 
IIow   vain   your  grandeur!      Ah,   liow   transitory 

Are    limnaii    Howers  I 


38  Hy:\ix  to  the  flowers. 

In  tlie  sweet-scented  pictures.  Heavenly  Artist, 

With   wliich   tiiou  paintest  Nature's  wide-spread  hall, 
What  a  deliglitful  lesson  thou  impartest 

Of  love  to  all! 

Not  useless  are  ye.  Flowers !   though  made  for  j)leasure 

Blooming  o'er  field  and  wave,  by  day  and  night. 
From  every  sou^rce  your  sanction  bids  me  treasure 

Harmless  delight. 

Ephemeral  sages  !    what  instructors  hoary 

For  such  a   world  of  thought  could  furnish  scope  ? 
Each  fading  calyx  a  memento  7nori, 

Yet  fount  of  hope. 

Posthumous  glories  !    angel-like  collection  ! 

U])raised  from  seed  or  bulb  interred  in  earth, 
Ye  are  to  me  a  type  of  resurrection. 

And  second  birth. 

Were  I,  O   G(j(I,  in  churchless  lands  remaining. 

Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  or  divines. 
My  soul  would  find,  in  flowers  of  Thy  ordaining, 

Priests,  sermons,  shrines  ! 

Horace  Smith, 


SONG   TO   MAY. 

May  I  queen  of  blossoms. 
And  fulfillinjx  flowers, 

Wirii  wliat  i)rctty  music 

Slinll  w'Q  ciiarni  the  liours  ? 

NVIlt  tliou  liave  pipe  and  reed, 

I»l()wn  in  tlie  open  mead? 

Or  to  tlie  lute  give  heed, 
In   the  green  bowers  ? 

Thou  hast  no  need  of  us. 

Or  |)ipe  or  Avire, 
That  hast  the  golden  bee 

Kij>ened  with  fire  ; 
And   many   thousand  more 
Songsters,  that  thee  adore. 
Filling  earth's  grassy  floor 

AN'itli   lU'w  desire. 

Thou   liast  thv  miiihtv  herds. 
Tame,  and  free  livers ; 

Doubt   not,   thy   nuisic   too 

In   tlic   (\rL'\)  rivers  ; 
And    the    whole    |ihiiiiv   flin'ht. 
NVarI)hiig  the  day  and   niglit: 
Up  at   the  gates  of  h-lit, 

See,   the  lai'k   (|uivers! 
31) 


40  THE   RIIODORA. 

When  with  the  jacintli 

Coy  fountains  are  tressed. 
And  for  the  mournful  bird 

Greenwoods  are  dressed, 
That  did  for  Tereus  pine, 
Then  shall  our  songs  be  thine, 
To  whom  our  hearts  incline  : 
Ma  J,  be  thou  blessed  ! 


Loiu)  TiirRi.ov/ 


THE   RHODORA. 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 
1  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  slnggish  brook  : 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool. 

Made  the  black  waters  with  their  beauty  gay  ; 
Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool. 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 
Rhodora  !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 
This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  marsh  and  sky. 
Dear,  tell  tlicm  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing. 
Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being. 

Why  thou  wert  there,   O  rival  of  the  rose  ! 
I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  ; 

But  in  my  simple  ignorance  suppose 
The  selfsame  Power  that  brouoht  me  there,  brou<'-ht  vou. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emkhsox. 


THE   FAIRIKS. 

Up  tlie  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  o-o  a  luniting, 

For  fear  of  little  men ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  Avhite  owl's  feather! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home: 
Tliey  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide-foam  ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  hlack  mountain-lake, 
^^'ith  frogs  for  their  watch-dogs. 

All    night  nwnke. 

High   on  the  hill-top 

The  old  kino;  sits  ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray 

He's  nio-li  lost  his  wits. 
With   a   bridge  of  wliite  mist 

( '(ihniilil<ill   he  crosses, 
41 


12  THE   FAIRIES. 

On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleasue  to  Rosses  : 

Or  going  up  with  music, 
On  cohl,   starry  nights, 

To  sup  with  the  queen 

Of  tlie  gay  Northern  Liglits. 

They  stole  little  Bridget  ' 

For  seven  years  long ; 
When  she  came  down  again 

Her  friends  were  all  gone.. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  nioht  and  morrow  : 
Tliey  thought  that  she  was  fast  asleep 

But  she  was  dead  witli  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes. 
On  a  bed  of  flag-leaves, 

Watchinfr  till  she  wakes. 


o 


By  the  craggy  hill-side. 

Through  the  mosses  bare. 
They  have  planted  thorn-trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there  ; 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

To  dig  one  up  in  spite. 
He  shall  find  the  thornies  set 

In  his  bed  at  nislit. 


o 


Up  the  airy  mountain, 
Down  the  rushv  i^len, 


THE    KAIRIKS 


4:5 


We  flarcirt  o-o  a  hunt-     Iri/i^S^ 

For     Trai-     of    Httlo /W 
men  ;  ■ ''  ' 

Wee  folk,   o-ood  fulk, 

Ti-<)o|)iiio-  all  together; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And      wliito      owl's 


i 


feather 


W 


III  lAM      Am. INGHAM. 


SUMMER   DAYS. 

I:<   Summer,  when  tlie  days  were  long, 
We  walked  too;etlier  in  tlie  wood : 
Our  heart  was  light,  our  step  was  strong ; 
Sweet  flutterino;s  were  there  in  our  blood, 
In  Summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 

We  strayed  from  morn  till  evening  came  ; 
We  gathered  flowers,  and  wove  us  crowns  ; 
We  walked  'mid  poj^pies  red  as  flame, 
Or  sat  upon  the  yellow  downs. 
And  always  wished  our  life  the  same. 

In  Summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 
We  leaped  the  hedgerow,  crossed  the  brook 
And  still  her  voice  flowed  forth  in  song. 
Or  else  she  read  some  graceful  book. 
In  Summer,  when  the  days  were  long. 

And  then  we  sat  beneath  tlie  trees. 
With  shadows  lessening  in  the  noon  ; 
And,  in  tlie  sunlight  and  the  breeze, 
We  feasted,  many  a  gorgeous  June, 
While  larks  were  sinoing;  o'er  the  leas. 

44 


SUM.MKll   DAYS.  45 

In  Suininer,  wIkmi  the  clays  were  long, 
On  dainty  chicken,  snow-wliite  hread, 
\Ve  feasted,  Avith  no  irrace  but  sonji. 
We  plucked  wild  sti'aul jerries,   ripe  and   red, 
In   Snnnnei',   wlien   the   days   were   long. 

We  loved,  and  vet  we  knew   it  not  ; 
For  loving  seemed  like  breathing;  then. 
We  found  a  heaven  in  every  spot, 
Saw  an<rels  too,  in  all  o;ood  men, 
And  dreamed  of  God  in  grove  and  ^rr*^'* 


In   Snmmer,  when  the  days  are  long. 
Alone  I   wander,  nutse  alone. 
I  see  her  not ;  but  that  old  song 
Under  the  fragrant  wind  is  blown. 
In   Sinnmer,   when   the  days  are  long. 

Alone  I  wander  in  the  Avood  ; 
But  one  fair  spirit  hears  my  sighs  ; 
And  half  I  see,  so  glad  and  good, 
The  honest  daylight  of  her  eves. 
That  charmed  me  under  earlier  skies. 

In  Summer,  Avhen  the  days  are  long, 
I  love  licr  as  we  loved  of  old  ; 
My  heart  is  light,  my  steji  is  strong  ; 
For  love  brings  back  those  hours  of  gold. 
In  Summer,  when  the  days  are  long. 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE    VIOLET. 

O    FAINT,   (k'HcicHis,  spring-time   violet, 

Thine  odor,  like  a  key, 
Turns  noiselessly  in  memory's  wards,  to  let 

A  t]ioui:lit  of  sorrow  free  ! 

The  breath  of  distant  fields  n])on  my  brow 

Blows  through  that  open  door 
The  sound  of  wind-borne   bells,  more  sweet  and  low 

And  sadder  thai,   of  yore. 

It  nomes  afar,  fi'om  that  beloved  place, 

And  that  beloved  hour. 
When  life  hung  ripening  in  love's  golden  grace, 

Like  grapes  above  a  bower. 

A  spring  goes  singing  through  its  reedy  grass  ; 

The  lark  sings  o'er  my  head. 
Drowned  in  the  sky — O  pass,  ye  visions,  pass! 

I   would  that  I  were  dead  ! 

Why  hast  thou  opened  that  forbidden  door 

From  which   I  ever  flee  ? 
O  vanished  Joy  I      O   Love,  that  art  no  more. 

Let  my   vexed  sj)irit  be  ! 

O  violet !    thine  odor  through  my  braiu 

Hath  searciied,  and  stuno-  to  crief 

This  sunny  day,  as  if  a  curse  did  stain 

Thy  ^•elvet  leaf. 

William   Wktjioije  Stomy. 

46 


ROSALIND'S  MADRIGAL. 

Love  in  my  bosom,  like  a  bee, 

Doth  suck  liis  sweet ; 
Now  Avith  his  wings  he  plays  with  mc, 

NoAV  Avith  his  feet; 
Within  mine  eyes  he  makes  his  nest, 
His  bed  amidst  my  tender  breast ; 
My  kisses  are  his  daily  feast  ; 
And  yet  he  robs  me  of  my  rest : 

Ah,  wanton  !  will  ye  ? 

And  if  I  sleep,  then  percheth  he 

With  pretty  flight, 
And  makes  his  pillow  of  my  knee 

The  livelono;  nijjht. 
Strike  I  mv  lute,  he  tunes  the  string  : 
He  music  plays  if  so  I  sing  ; 
He  lends  me  every  lovely  thing  ; 
Yet  cruel  he  my  heart  doth  sting : 

Whist,  wanton  !  still  ye  ! 

Else  I  with  roses  every  day 

Will  whip  you  hence. 
And  bind  you  when  you  long  to  play. 

Fur  your  offence  ; 
47 


48  VIRTUE. 


I'll  shut  mine  eyes  to  keep  you  in, 
I'll  make  you  fast  it  for  your  sin, 
I'll  count  your  power  not  worth  a  pin  ; 
Alas  !  what  hereby  shall  I  win 
If  he  gainsay  nie  ? 

What  if  I  beat  the  wanton  boy. 

With  many  a  rod  ? 
He  will  repay  me  with  annoy, 

Because  a  god. 
Then  sit  thou  safely  on  my  knee, 
And  let  thy  bower  my  bosom  be  ; 
Lurk  in  mine  eyes — I  like  of  the-. 
O    Cupid,  so   thou  pity  me. 

Spare  not,  but  play  thee  ! 

Thomas  Lodge. 


VIRTUE. 

Sweet  day !  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky ! 
-Vr  The  dew  shall  weep  thy  fall  to-night ; 

For  thou  must  die. 

Sweet  rose  !  whose  hue,  angry  and  brave. 
Bids  the  rash  gazer  wipe  his  eye, 
Thy  root  is  eA^er  in  its  grave ; 
And  thou  must  die. 


SONG.  49 

Sweet  spring  I  full  of  sweet  days  and  roses, 
A  box  Avliere  sweets  compacted  lie, 
Thv  music  sliows  ye  liave  your  closes ; 
And  all  must  die. 

Only  a  sweet  and  virtuous  soul, 
Like  seasoned  timber,  never  gives ; 
But  though  the  whole  Avorld  turn  to  coal. 
Then  chiefly  lives. 

George  Hkuijkht. 


SONG. 

The  world  goes  up,  and  the  world  goes  down, 

And  the  sunshine  follows  the  rain  ; 
And  vesterdav's  sneer  and  vestcrday's  frown 

Can  never  come  over  a£]i;ain. 

Sweet  wife, 

No,  never  come  over  again. 

For  woman  is  warm  though  man  be  cold. 

And  the  night  will  hallow  the  day  ; 
Till  the  heart  which  at  even  was  weary  and  old 

Can  rise  in  the  mornino;  jiav. 

Sweet  wife. 

To  its  work  in  the  morning  gay. 

CHAHLKS    KlXGSI.KY. 


I> 


THE   BKOOK-SIDE. 


1  WANDERED  by  the  bruuk-side, 

I  wandered  by  the  niill  ; 
I  could  not  hear  the  brook  flow. 

The  noisy  wheel  was  still  ; 
There  was  no  burr  of  grasshop})er, 

No  chirp  of  any  bird  ; 
Bat  the  beating  of  my  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  T  lieard. 
50 


THE   BKOOK-SIDE.  51 

I  sat  beneath  the  ehn-tree  ; 

r   watched  the  loiio;,  lono;  shade. 

And,  as  it  grew  still  lon<;er, 

I  (lid  not  feel  afraid ; 

For  I  listened  for  a  footfall, 

I   listened  for  a  word  ; 

But  the  beatiiiiT  of  niv  own  heart 

Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

He  came   not  —  no,  he  came  not; 
The  night  came  on  alone  : 
The  little  stars  sat,  one  by  one. 
Each  on   his  golden  throne; 
The  evening  wind  passed  by  my  cneek, 
The  leaves  above  were  stirred  ; 
But  the  beating  of  my  own   heart 
Was  all  the  sound  I  heard. 

Fast  silent  tears  were  Howinij;, 
When  something  stood  behind  ; 
A  hand  was  on  niv  shoulder, 
I   knew  its  touch  was  kind  : 
It  drew  me  nearer  —  nearer. 
We  did  not  sj)eak  one  word  ; 
For  the  beating  of  our  own   hearts 
Was  all  the  sound  we  heard. 

KlCI/Al;i)    MoNCKlOX    MlI.NKS. 


LITTLE  BELL. 

He  pi-ayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

•'  The  Ancient  Mariner." 

Piped  the  blackbird  on  tlie  beechwood  s])i-ay : 
"  Pretty  maid,  slow  wandering  this  way, 

What's  yonr  name?"  qnotli  he; 
"  What's  your  name  ?  O  stop,  and  straight  iinfola, 
Pretty  maid  Avith  showery  curls  of  gold." 

"LittJo  Bell,"  said  she. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  beneath  the  rocks. 
Tossed  aside  her  gleaming  golden  locks : 

"  Bonny  bird,"  quoth  she, 
"  Sing  me  your  best  song  before  I  go." 
"  Here's  the  very  finest  song  I  know, 

Little  Bell,"  said  he. 

And  the  blackljird  piped  ;  you  never  heard 
Half  so  gay  a  song  from  any  bird. 

Full  of  quips  and  wiles  : 
Now  so  round  and  rich,  now  soft  and  slow  ; 
All  for  love  of  that  sweet  face  below. 

Dimpled  o'er  with  smiles. 

52 


LITTLE   BELL.  53 

Aiul  the  while  the  bonny  bird  did  })our 
His  full  heart  out  freely,  o'er  and  o'er, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies. 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow. 
And  shine  forth  in  happy  overflow 

From  the  blue,  bright  eyes. 

Down  the  dell  she  tripped,  and  through  the  glade  ; 
Peeped  the  squirrel  from  the  hazel  shade, 

And  from  out  the  tree 
Swung,  and  leaped,  and  frolicked,   void  of  fear ; 
While  bold  blackbird  piped  that  all  might  hear, 

^'Little  Bell!"  piped  he. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  amid  the  iWn  ; 

"■  Squirrel,  squirrel,  to  yonr  task  return  : 

Bring  me  nuts !  "  qnoth  she. 
Up,  away  the  frisky  squirrel  hi'^s. 
Golden  wood-lights  glancing  in  his  eyes. 

And  adown  the  tree, 
Great  ripe  nuts,  kissed  brown   by  July  sun, 
In   the  little  lap  dropped  one  l)y  one  ; 
Hark,   how  blackbird  pipes  to  see  the  fun 

"  Happy  Bell  !  "  pipes  he. 

Little  Bell  looked  up  and  down   tlip   i!;Iade: 
"  Squiirel,  squiri'd,   it'  you're   not  afraid, 

C<uue  and  share  with   me!" 
Down  came  squirrel,  eager  for  his  i'are, 
Down  came  bonny  l»l:i(kliir(l   I  declare  . 


64  LITTLE   BELL. 

Little  Bell  gave  each  his  honest  share  : 
Ah,  the  merry  three  ! 

And  the  Avhile  these  frolic  playmates  twain 
Piped,  and  frisked  from  bough  to  bongh  agi.in, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies. 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  o-row  and  2:ro">v. 
And  shine  out  in  happy  overflow, 

From  the  blue,  bright  eyes. 

By  her  snow-white  cot  at  close  of  day. 
Knelt  sweet  Bell,  with  folded  palms,  to  pray. 

Very  calm  and  clear 
Rose  the  praying  voice  to  where,  unseen, 
In  blue  heaven,  an  angel  shape  serene 

Paused  awhile  to  hear. 

"  What  good  child  is  this,"  the  angel  said, 
"  That,  with  happy  heart,  beside  her  bed 

Prays  so  lovingly  ?  " 
Low  and  soft,   O  very  low  and  soft ! 
Crooned  the  blackbird  in  the  orchard  croft : 

"  Bell,  dear  Bell !  "  crooned  he. 


"  Whom  God's  creatures  love,"  the  angel  fair 
Murmured,  "  God  doth  bless  with  angels'  care ; 

Child,  thy  bed  shall  be 
Folded  safe  from  harm.  —  Love  deep  and  kind 
Shall  watch  around,  and  leave  good  gifts  behind. 

Little  Bell,  for  thee."  Thomas  Wkstwood. 


THE   FADED   VIO]>ET. 

What  tliouglit  is  folded  in  thy  leaves  ! 

What  tender  thought,  what  speechless  pain  I 
I  hold  thy  faded  lips  to  mine, 

Thou  darling  of  the  April  rain. 

I  hold  tliy  faded  lips  to  mine. 

Though  scent  and  azui'e  tint  are  fled  ; 

O  !  dry,  mute  lips,  ye  are  the  type 
Of  something  in  me  cold  and  dead : 

Of  something  wilted  like  thy  leaves, 

Of  fragrance  flown,    of  beauty  dim  ; 
Yet,  for  the  love  of  those  Avhite  hands 

That  found  thee  by  a  river's  brim, 

Tliat  found  thee  when  thy  sunny  mouth 

Was  pur])led,  as  with  drinking  wine : 
For  love  of  her  who  love  for<rot, 

I  hold  thy  iaded  lips  to  mine. 

That  thou*  shouldst  live  when  I  am  dead, 
When  hate  is  dead  for  me,  and   wrong. 

For  this  I  use  my  subtlest  art. 
For  this  I  fold  thee  in  my  song. 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


f)5 


^ 


W] 


^ 


% 


THE   MOUXTATN   HEART'S-EASE. 

By  scattered  rocks  and  turbid  waters  shifting, 

By  furrowed  glade  and  dell, 
To  feverish  men  thy  calm,  sweet  face  upKfting, 

Thou  stayest  them  to  tell 

The  delicate  thought,  that  cannot  find  expression. 

For  ruder  speech  too  fair. 
That,   hke  thy  petals,  trembles  in  possession, 

And  scatters  on  the  air. 

The  miner  pauses  in  his  rugged  labor. 

And,  leaning  on  his  spade, 
Laushino-lv  calls  vmto  his  comrade  neighbor 

To  see  thy  charms  displayed  ; 

But  in  his  eyes  a  mist  unwonted  rises, 

And  for  a  moment  clear. 
Some  sweet  home-face  his  foolish  thought  surprises 

And  passes  in  a  tear, — 

Some  boyish  vision  of  his  Eastern  village. 

Of  uneveutl'ul   toil. 
Where  golden  harvests  followed  (piiet  tillage 

Above  a  peaceful  soil: 

57 


58  TIDES. 

One  moment  only,  for  the  pick,  nplifting, 

Through  root  and  fibre  cleaves, 
And  on  the  muddy  current  slowly  drifting 

Are  swept  thy  bruised  leaves. 

And  yet,  O  poet,  in  thy  homely  fashion 

Thy  work  thou  dost  fulfill. 

For  on  the  turbid  current  of  his  passion 

Thy  face  is  shining  still ! 

Bret  Harte. 


TIDES. 

O  PATIBXT  shore,  that  canst  not  go  to  meet 
Thy  love,  the  restless  sea,  how  comfortest 
Thou  all  thy  loneliness  ?     Art  thou  at  rest. 

When,  loosing  his  strong  arms  from  round  thy  feet, 

He  turns  away  ?  Know'st  thou,  however  sweet 
That  other  shore  may  be,  that  to  thy  breast 
He  must  return  ?     And  when  in  sterner  test 

He  folds  thee  to  a  heart  which  does  not  beat. 
Wraps  thee  in  ice,  and  gives  no  smile,  no  kiss. 
To  break  long  wintry  days,  still  dost  thou  miss 

Naught  from  thy  trust  ?     Still  wait,  unfaltering. 

The  higher,  warmer  waves  which  leap  in  spring  ? 

O  sweet,  wise  shore,  to  be  so  satisfied  ! 

O  heart,  learn  from  the  shore  !     Love  has  a  tide  ! 

H.  II. 


TO   PKLMROSES, 

FILLED    WITH    MORNING    DKW. 

Why  do  ye  weep,  sweet  babes?     Can  tears 
S})eak  grief  in  you, 
Who  were  but  born 
Just  as  the  modest  morn 
Teemed  her  refreshing;  dew? 
Ahis  I  ye  liave  not  known  that  shower 
That  mars  a  flower. 
Nor  felt  the  unkind 
Breatli  of  a  blasting  wind ; 
Nor  are  ye  worn  with  years. 
Or  warped,  as  we. 
Who  tliink  it  strange  to  see 
Sucli   pretty  flowers,  like  to  orphans  young, 
Speaking  by  tears  before  ye  have  a  tongue. 

Speak,  whimpering  younglings  I  and  make  known 
The  reason  why 

Ye  droop  and  weep. 
Is  it  for  want  of  sleep, 
Or  childish  lullaby? 
Oi-  that  ye  have  not  seen  as  yet 
The  violet*^ 

Or  brought  a  kiss 
From  that  sweetheart  to  this? 
5 'J 


60  TO   BLOSSOMS. 

No,  no ;  this  sorrow,  shown 

By  your  tears  slied. 

Would  have  this  lecture  read : 
"  That  things  of  greatest,  so  of  meanest  worth, 
Conceived  with  firief  are.  and  with  tears  brouoht  forth.' 

ROHERT    HkRKICK 


TO  BLOSSOMS. 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fi'uitful  tree, 

Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast? 

Your  date  is  not  so  past 
But  you  may  stay  yet  here  awliile, 

To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last. 

What  I  were  ye  born  to  be 

An  hour  or  half's  debVht, 
And  so  to  bid  good-nio-ht  ? 

'Tis  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth. 
Merely  to  show  your  worth, 
And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  Ave 
INIay  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave  ; 

And,  after  they  have  shown  their  pride 
Like  you  awhile,  they  glide 


Into  the  grave. 


Robert  Herrick 


TO  DAFFODILS 

Fair  daffodils,  Ave  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon  ; 
As  yet  the  early-rising  sun 

Has  not  attained  his  noon  : 
Stay,  stay 

Until  the  hastening  day 
Has  run 

But  to  the  even-son o- : 
And,  having  prayed  together,  we 

Will   oo  with  v(Mi  alono-. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you  ; 

We  have  as  short  a  Si)rino;, 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  (leca\-, 
As  you,  or  anything. 

We  die, 
As  your  hours  do  ;   and  (li-\- 

Awixy 
\Akv  to  the  Sunnner's  rain. 
Or  as  the   peai'ls  of  moruing  dew  : 
Ne'ei-  to   l)e   found   again. 

IJoiiKin'  Ilr.iiuKK 


r,l 


THE   MOTHER  NIGHTINGALE 

I  HAVE  seen  a  niglitingalo 
On  a  sprig  of  thyme  bewail, 
Seeing  the  dear  nest,  which  was 
Hers  alone,  borne  off,  alas  ! 
By  a  laborer ;  I  heard, 
For  this  outrage,  the  poor  bird 
Say  a  thousand  mournful  things 
To  the  wind,  which,  on  its  wings, 
From  her  to  the  guardian  of  the  sky, 
Bore  her  melancholy  cry, 
Bore  her  tender  tears.     She  spake 
As  if  her  fond  heart  would  break  : 
One  while,  in  a  sad,  sweet  note. 
Gurgled  from  her  strainino-  throat. 
She  enforced  her  piteous  tale, 
Mournful  prayer,  and  plaintive  wail ; 
One  while,  with  the  shrill  dispute 
Quite  outwearied,  she  was  mute  ; 
Then  afresh,  for  her  dear  brood. 
Her  harmonious  shrieks  renewed. 
Now  she  winged  it  round  and  round  ; 
Now  she  skimmed  along  the  ground  ; 
Now  from  bough  to  bough,  in  haste. 
The  delighted  robber  chased, 
And,  alighting  in   his  path, 
Seemed  to  say,  'twixt  grief  and  \yi-atli, 

62 


TO   THi;   IIUMBLEBKE.  (i:3 

"  Give  me  back,  fierce  rustic  nule, 
Give  me  back  my  pretty  brood  I  " 
And  I  saw  tbe  rustic  still 
Answered  "  That,  I   never  will  I  " 

EsTEVAN  Manuel  de  Villegas.     (Spanish.) 

rninslation  of  Thomas  Roscoe. 


TO   THE   IIUMBLEBEE. 

Burly,  dozing,  linmblebee ! 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me ; 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  throuo;h  seas  to  seek, 
I  will  follow  thee  alone. 
Thou  animated  torrid  zone  ! 
Zicrzao;  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines  ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Sino;inii;  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Flower-ljells, 

Honeyed  cells : 

These  the  tents 

Which  lie  frequents. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion  ! 
Sailoi-  of  tlie  atmosphere, 
SwinniKT  through  the  waves  of  air. 


64  TO   THE   HUMBLEBEE. 

Voyager  of  light  and  noon, 
Epicurean  of  June  ! 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Witliin  ear-shot  of  thy  Inun  ; 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  -wind,  in  May  days. 

With  a  net  of  shinino-  haze 

Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 

And,  with  softness  touching  all, 

Tints  the  human  countenance 

With  a  color  of  romance. 

And,  infusing  subtile  heats, 

Turns  the  sod  to  violets  : 

Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes. 

Rover  of  the  underwoods. 

The  green  silence  dost  displace 

With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  Midsummer's  petted  crone  I 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone. 
Telling  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flcnvers  ; 
Of  o-ulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound. 
In  Indian  wiklernesses  found  ; 
Of  Syrian  pea^e,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  birdlike  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  mv  insect  never  seen  ; 


TO   THE   IIUMBLKBEE.  65 

But  violets,  and  bilberry-bells, 
Maple  sap,  and  dafFodels, 
Clover,  catclifly,  adder's-tongue, 
And  brier-roses,  dwelt  amono- : 
All  beside  was  unkiKjwn  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 
Seeing  only  Avhat  is  fair. 

Sipping  only  what  is  sweet. 
Thou  dost  m(x-k  at  fate  and  care. 

Leave  the  chaff'  and   take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep  ; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleej) ; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us. 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 

Ralph  Wald:)  Emkuson 


OF   A'  THK   AIRTS   THE   WIND   CAN   BLAW. 

Of  a'  tlie  airts  the  wind  can  blaw 

I  dearly  like  the  west; 
For  tliere  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

Tlie  lassie  I  lo'e  best. 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row. 

And  monie  a  hill  between ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air  ; 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green. 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

RoBFJtT   Burns. 


G() 


. ^       urn.-  ^^ i-h^^ri^.'^'^i- W^  ■  I'l 


^■^^■■x  O 


EVENING. 

SwKlOT  after  showers,  amhrosinl   air, 
J'liat  roUest  IVoiii  tlic  t;()r<roous  p-loom 
nr  ('vciiiiiM-,   over   l)r;ik('  jiiid   l)l()oia 

x\ll(l    liic;i(l(i\v,    slowly    lirc;itliiii^-    Ii;iro 


Tlio  rinind   of  s|)ace,  ami   I'lipf    l>.'Io\v. 
Tla-ough   ;ill    111,.  (Icwy-tasscllc.j    w 1, 


G7 


68  THE    RIVKll-GOD   TO   A.MUliET. 

And  shadowino;  down  the  horned  flood 
In  iipi)lr;s — tan  my  brows,  and  blow 

Tlie  fever  from  my  clieek,  and  sigli 

Tlie  flill  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas. 
On  leagues  of  odor  streamino-  far. 
To  where,  in  yonder  orient  star, 

A  hundred  sjjirits  whisper  "  Peace !  " 

Alkukd   Thnxyson 


THE    RIVER-GOD   TO   AMORET. 


I   AM  this  fountain's  god.     Below, 

My  waters  to  a  river  grow  ; 

And  'twixt  two  banks,  with  osiers  set, 

That  only  prosper  in  the  wet, 

Through  the  meadows  do  they  glide, 

Wheeling  still  on  every  side  — 

Sometimes  winding  round  about. 

To  find  the  evenest  channel  out. 

And  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me. 

Leaving  mortal  company. 

In  the  cool  streams  slialt  thou  lie. 

Free  from  harm  as  well  as  I. 

I  will  give  thee,  for  thy  food, 

No  tisli   that  useth   in   the  mud  ; 


THE    RIVER-GOD   TO   AMOKET  69 

But  trout  and  pike,  tliat  love  to  swim 

Wliere  the  gnivel,  from  the  brim, 

Throuj^h  the  pure  streams  may  be  seen. 

Orient  pearls,  fit  for  a  queen, 

Will  I  give,  thy  love  to  win, 

And  a  shell  to  keep  them  in. 

Not  a  fish  in  all  my  brook 

That  shall  disobey  thy  look. 

But,  when  thou  wilt,  come  sliding  by, 

And  from  thy  white  hand  take  a  fly. 

And  to  make  thee  understand 

How  I  can  my  waves  command, 

They  shall  bubble  whilst  I  sing. 

Sweeter  than  the  silver  string : 

THE  SOXG. 

Do  not  fear  to  put  thy  feet 
Naked  in  the  river,  sweet. 
Think  not  leech,  or  newt,  or  toad, 
Will  bite  thy  foot  when  thou  hast  trod  , 
Nor  let  the  water  risino;  hicrh. 
As  thou  wad'st  in,  make  thee  crv 
And  sob  ;  but  ever  live   with  me. 
And  not  a  wave  shall  trouble  thee  ! 

John  Flkichki?. 


SUMMER  LONGINGS. 

Las  mananas  floridaii 
De  Abril  y  Mayo. 


Caldebon 


Ah  !  my  lieart  is  weary  waiting, 
Waiting  for  the  May, 
Waiting  for  the  pleasant  rambles. 
Where  the  fragrant  hawthorn  brambles. 
With  the  woodbine  alternating. 

Scent  the  dewy  way. 
Ah !  my  heart  is  Aveary  waiting, 
Waiting  for  the  May. 

Ah  !  my  heart  is  sick  with  longing, 
Longing  for  the  May, 
Longing  to  escape  from  study, 
To  the  yomig  face  fair  and  ruddy. 
And  the  thousand  charms  belonging 

To  the  Summer's  day. 
Ah !  my  heart  is  sick  with  longing, 
Lono-ins:  for  the  May. 


C5         O 


Ah  !  my  heart  is  sore  with  sighing, 
Sighing  for  the  May, 
Sio-hing  for  their  sure  returning, 
When  the  summer  beams  are  burning : 

70 


SIMMER  LONGINGS.  71 

Hopes  and  flowers  that,  dead  or  dvincr, 

All  the  Winter  lay. 
Ah !  mv  heart  is  sore  with  siehino;, 

Sighino;  tor  the  May. 

Ah  I  my  heart  is  pained  with  throbbing, 
Throbbing  for  the  May, 
Throbbing  for  the  seaside  billows, 
Or  the  water-wooing  willows. 

Where,  in  laughino;  and  in  sobbincr. 

Glide  the  streams  away. 
Ah  I  my  heart,  my  heart  is  throbbing. 
Throbbing  for  the  May. 

Waiting  sad,  dejected,  weary, 
Waiting  for  the  May  I 
S])ring,  goes  by  with  wasted  warnings, 
Moonlit  evenings,  sunbright  mornings  ; 
Snmmer  comes  —  yet  dark  and  dreary 

Life  still  ebbs  away. 
Man  is  ever  weary,  weary, 
WnitiniT  for  the  May  I 

Denis  Flouexce  McCarthy 


LINES   TO   AN   INDIAN    AIR. 


I  ARISE  from  dreams  of  thee 

sweet  sleep  of  night, 
winds  are  breatliing   hnv, 
stars  are  sliinino;  briirht. 
om  dreams  of  thee, 
it  in   my  feet 

Has  led  me — who  knows 

how  ? 
To  thy  chamber  window, 
sweet ! 

The  wandering  airs,  thev 

faint 
On  the  dark  and   silent 

stream  ; 


The  champak  odors  fail 
Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  tlream 
The  nightingale's  comj)laint, 
It  dies  uyion  lier  heart  : 
As  I  must  on   thine, 
I)elo\'ed  as   tliou   art  I 
72 


HOW  THICK  THE  WH.D  FLOWERS  BLOW  .ABOUT  OUK  FEET.    73 

( ),  lift  me  from  the  grass  ! 

I  die,  I  faint,  I  fail ! 
Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 

On  my  li])s  and  eyelids  pale. 
My  cheek  is  cold  and  white,  alas  ! 

]My  heart  beats  lond  and  fast ; 
O,  press  it  close  to  thine  again. 

Where  it  will  break  at  last  I 

PkKCY   BySSIIK    SllKI-LEY. 


now     rilICK    THE    WILD    FLOWERS    BLOW    ABOUT    OUR    FEET 

How  thick  the  wild  flowers  blow  about  our  feet. 
Thick  strewn  and  unregarded,  which,   if  rare. 
We  should  take  ttote  how  beautiful  they  were, 

Ho\v  delicately  wrought,  of  scent  how  sweet. 

And  iii(']-cies  which  on  every  path  we  meet, 

Whose  vevy  commonness  should  win  more  praise, 
Do  for  that  very  cause  less  wonder  raise, 

Aii'l   these  with  slighter  thankfulness  wo  greet. 

\'et    pause  thou  often  on   life's  onward  Avay, 
Pause  time  enough  to  stoop  and  gather  one 

(  )t'   these  sweet  wild  flowers  —  time  enough  to  tell 
Its  l)eautv  OMT  :   this   when   ihoii   hast  done. 

And    niarkiMl    it    ihil\.    then    if   thou    canst    lay 

It    wet    with    ihaiikliil    tears    into    thy  bosom,   well! 

IIk  II  \i;i>   I  iii.N  i.mx   'J'uknch. 


THE   CAVE    OF    SILVEK. 

Seek  me  tlio  cave  of  silver ! 
Find  me  the  cave  of  silver  I 
RiHe  the  cave  of  silver ! 

Said  Ilda  to  Brok  the  Bold  : 
So  you  may  kiss  me  often  ; 
So  you  may  ring  my  finger ; 
So  you  may  bind  my  true  love 

In  the  round  hoop  of  gold ! 

Bring  me  no  skins  of  foxes  ; 
Brino-  me  no  beds  of  eider  ; 
Boast  not  your  fifty  vessels 

That  fish  in  the  Northern  Sea  ; 
For  I  "vvould  lie  u}^on  velvet, 
And  sail  in  a  golden  galley, 
And  naught  but  the  cave  of  silver 

Will  win  my  true  love  for  thee. 

Reena,  the  witch,  hath  told  me 
That  up  in  the  wild  Lapp  mountains 
There  lieth  a  cave  of  silver, 

Down   deep  in  a  valley-side ; 
So  gather  vour  lance  and  rifle, 
And  speed  to  the  purple  pastures, 
And  seek  ye  the  cave  of  silver 

As  you  seek  me  for  your  bride. 
74 


TllK    CAVE    OF   SILVER.  75 

I  go,  said  Iji'uk,  right  proudly; 
I  go  to  the  })urple  pastures, 
To  seek  for  the  cave  of  silver 

So  long  as  my  life  shall   hold  ; 
Hut   when  the   keen   Lapp  arrows 
Are  fleshed  in  the  heart  tliat  hjves  yju, 
I'll   leave  my  curse  on   the  woman 

Who  slauirhtered   Brok  the  Piold  ! 

Hut   I  Ma   lauirhed  as  she  shifted 
The  Bergen  scarf  on   her  shoulder, 
And  pointed  her  small  white  finger 

Right  up  at  the  mountain  gate  ; 
And  cried,   O   my  gallant  sailor, 
Vou're  brave  enough  to  the  fishes, 
lint  the  Lappish  arrow   is  keener 

Than  the  hack  of  tlie  thorny  skate! 

The   Sunnner  passed,   and   the   Winter 
Came  down   from   tlie   icy  ocean  : 
But   Ijiick   from    the  cave   of  silver 

Returned   not    Brok   the    Bold  : 
And    Ilda   waited   and    waited, 
And   sat   at    the   door   tdl   sunset. 
And   ga/.cd   at    the    wild    Lap])   mountains 

Thnt   hlacki-ned   the  skies  of  <iold. 


in 


I    want   not   a   cave  of  silver ! 
I    care  for   no  cave  of  silver! 
O  far  beyond   caves  of  silver 
I  pine  for  my    Brok   the   Bold! 


76  A   DIRGE. 

O  ve  strong  Norweo-ian  gallants. 
Go  seek  for  my  lovely  lover, 
And  bring  him  to  ring  my  finger 
With  the  round  hoop  of  gold ! 

But  the  brave  Norwegian  gallants 
They  laughed  at  the  cruel  maiden, 
And  left  her  sitting  in  sorrow, 

Till  her  heart  and  her  face  grew  old  ; 
While  she  moaned  of  the  cave  of  silver, 
And  moaned  of  the  wild  Lapp  mountains. 
And  him  who  never  will  ring  her 

With  the  round  hoop  of  gold ! 

FiTZ-JaMKS    O'BlilKN. 


A  DIRGE 

Call  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  the  wren. 

Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover, 

And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 

The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men. 

Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 

The  ant,  the  field-mouse,  and  the  mole. 

To  rear  him  hillocks  that  shall  keep  him  warm. 

And  (when  gay  tombs  are  robbed)  sustain  no  harm  ; 

But  keep  the  wolf  far  thence,  that's  foe  to  men. 

For  with  his  nails  he'll  dig  them  up  again. 

John  Wkhster. 


MY   LIFE   IS    LIKE   THE   SUMMER   HOSE. 

^Iy  life  is  like  the  summer  rose 

Tliat  opens  to  tlie  morning  sky, 
But,  ere  tlie  sliades  of  evenincr  close. 

Is  scattered  on  tlie  ground  —  to  die  ; 
Yet  on  the  rose's  hmnble  bed 
The  sweetest  dews  of  night  are  she<i. 
As  if  she  wept  the  waste  to  see. 
Bnt  none  shall  weej)  a  tear  for  me  ! 

My  life  is  like  the  autumn   leaf 

That  trembles  in  the  moon's  pale  ray  , 

Its  hold  is  frail,  its  date  is  brief: 
Restless  —  and  soon  to  pass  away  ; 

Yet  ere  that  leaf  shall  foil  and  fade 

The  parent  tree  will  mourn  its  shad-:^. 

The  winds  bewail  the  leafless  tree. 

l:Jut  none  shall  breathe  a  sigh  for  me  ! 

My  life  is  like  the  jirlnts  which  feet 
Have  left  on    Tninpa's  desert  strand: 

Soon  as  the  rising  tide  shall  beat. 

All   trace   will    \;uiisli   from   the  sand  ; 

Yet,  as  if  grieving  to  efliicc 

All  vestige  of  the   human   i-ace, 

On  that  lone  slK)rc  loud   moans  the  sea. 

But  none,  alas  !    shall  mourn  for  me  ! 

I!i(  II  \i;ii    IIi.MtV    Wii  i>K 


THE    OlirHAN'S   CIIRISTMAS-TIIEE. 

An^  orplian  boy,  with   weary  fci't, 

On  Christmas  Eve,  alone,  benighted. 

Went  through    the    town    from    street 
street, 
To  see  the  dustering  candles  lighted 

Tn  homes  where  happy  children  meet. 


1'IIW.I'^il'^'.     ^ 

:,..:.~..:-^ 


•vJ^f?   Before  each  house  he  stood,  to  mark 
The  pleasant  rooms  that  shone  so  fairl 
I^T  The  tapers  lighted,  spark  by  spark, 

Till  all  the  trees  were  blazing  rarel; 
And  sad  his  heart  was,  in  the  dark. 
78 


Till-:  ORPHANS    (  lllMSTMAS- TllEIv 


Ti) 


■WJ 


A  l\l,      -"^"V-, 


mi 


A  '^M 


Jlc   \V('j)t  ;   \\('  <'las])»^(l   his   hands  aiul  rricd  : 
"Ah,  every  chihl   to-iiiirht  reioices  • 

I  liiMi-  Christmas  presents  all  divide, 
Ainiiiid    their  ti'ces.    with    iiierrv   voices; 

Ihit   (  Inistiiias   is   to   me  denied. 

"  <  Mice    with    my   sister,    hand    in    hand. 

At    hniiie,    hn\\    diij    1 1 1 v    Ircc    dehght    me  I 

No    nthei'    tapers   slinne    so    e-i-md; 

Ihit    all    tm-o'et    iiie,    HOIK'    invite    me, 

Here,    lipiiely.    in    the   st  ra  ni:;ei'"s   land. 


"■  \\  ill    no   one    let    me    ill.    Id   share 

'I  ln'    li^lit,  —  to   take   some   corner   ni^li    it? 

In    all    these    houses   can't    thev    spare 
A    s|»ot    where    [   may   si!    in   (piiet  — 

A    lillle   .seat    anion"-    them    there'.'' 


80  THE    ORPHAN'S   CHRISTMAS-TREE. 

"  Will  no  one  let  me  in  to-night  ? 

I  ^vill  not  beg  for  gift  or  token; 
I  only  ask  to  see  the  sight 

And  hear  the  thanks  of  others  spoken, 
And  that  will  be  my  own  delight." 


He  knocked  at  every  door  and  gate  ; 

He  rapped  at  window-pane  and  shntter ; 
But  no  one  heard  and  bade  him  wait, 

Or  came,  the  "  Welcome  in !  "  to  utter  : 
Their  ears  Avere  dull  to  outer  fate. 

Each  father  looked  with  eyes  that  smiled, 

Upon  his  happy  children  only  : 
Their  gifts  the  mother's  heart  beguiled 

To  think  of  them :  none  saw  the  lonely- 
Forgotten  boy,  the  orphan  child. 

"  O  Christ-child,  holy,  kind,  and  dear  ! 

I  have  no  father  and  no  mother. 
Nor  friend  save  thee,  to  give  me  cheer. 

Be  thou  my  help,  there  is  none  other. 
Since  all  forget  me,  wandering  here  I  " 


The  poor  boy  rubbed  his  hands  so  blue, 
His  little  hands,  the  frost  made  chilly ; 

His  tattered  clothes  he  closer  drew 
And  crouched  within  a  corner  stilly. 

And  prayed,  and  knew  not  what  to  do. 


THE    OUrilAN-S   CIIRISTiMAS-TREE.  81 


Then,  suddenly,  there  shone  a  light; 

Along  the  street,  approaching  nearer 
Another  i-liild,   in  garments  white, 

Spake  as  he  came  —  and  clearer,  dearer, 
His  voice  made  nuisic  in  the  night : 

"•  I  am  the  Christ  I  have  thou  no  fear ! 

I  Avas  a  child  in  my  probation, 
And  children  mito  me  are  near: 

I  hear  and  heed  thy  supplication, 
Th()U"h  all  the  rest  forget  thee  here. 


"  Mv  saving  Word  to  all  I  hear. 

And  equally  to  eacli  "tis  given  ; 
I  bring  the  promise  of  my  care 

Here,  in  the  street,  beneath  the  heaven, 
As  Avell  as  in  the  chambers  there. 


"  And  here,  ]:)oor  l)oy,  thy  Christmas-tree 
^\'ill    I   adorn,   and  so   make  glimmer 

Thi-ough   all   this  ()i)en  space,   f<»r  thee, 
'i'liat  those  within  shall  twinkle  dininier 

For  bright  as  thine  they  cannot  be  I  " 


The  Christ-cliild    witli    liis  shining  liand 
Tlien    jiointi'd    np.    an<l    In!    IJic    liisln-s 

'I'lial    s|iarl<lc(i    tlit-rc!      lie   saw   it    stand. 
A   tree,   o'erimiig   wit'i    starry   cliislers 

Cii    all    its  l)ranclirs,    widi'   and    ''i-and. 


82 


THE    OUPHAN'S    CIIRISTMAS-TUEK. 

So  f;ir  and  yet  so  lU'av  !  the  night 

Was  blazing  with  the  tapers'  splendor: 

What  was  the  orphan  boy's  delight, 
How  beat  his  bosom  warm  and  tender, 

To  see  his  Christmas-tree  so  bright ! 

It  seemed  to  him  a-  happy  dream", 

Then,  from  the  starry  branches  bending, 

The  angels  stooped,  and  throngh  the  gleam 
They  lifted  him  to  peace  nnending, 

They  folded  him  in  love  supreme.. 

The  orphan  child  is  now  at  rest : 

No  father's  care  he  needs,  nor  mother's, 

Upon  the  Christ-child's  holy  breast. 
All  that  is  here  bestowed  on  others 

lie  there  forgets,  where  all  is  best. 

Bayard  Taylou,  aitf.r  Rukckkkt. 


BESIDE   THE    SEA. 

I. 
They  walked  beside  the  Summer  sea, 

And  watched  the  slowly  dying;  sun  ; 
And  "  O,"  she  said,  "  come  back  to  me  I 

My  love,  my  own,  my  only  one  !  " 
But  while  he  kissed  her  fears  away 

The   crentle  waters  kissed  the  shore, 
And,  sadly  whispering,  seemed  to  say 

"  He  '11  come  no  more  !   he  '11  come  no  more  !  " 

II. 

AK)ne  beside  the  Autumn  sea 

She   watched  the  sombre  death  of  day  ; 
Antl  "  O,"'  she  said,  "  remember  me  ! 

And  love  me,  darlin<r,  far  awav  !  " 
A  cold  wind  swej)t  the  watery  gloom. 

And,   darkly   whis])erini;'  on   the   shore, 
Sio;hed  out  the  secret  of  his  doom,  — 

"  He  '11  come  no  more  !  he  *11  come  no  more  !  " 

III. 
In   ])eace  beside  the  Winter  sea 

A  white  grave  glimmers  in   the  moon  ; 
And  waves  are  fresh,  and  clouds  are  free. 

And   sill-ill    winds   ])i|)e   a  cari'less  tune. 
One   sleej)S   beneath   the  dark   blue   wave. 

And  one   upon  the  lonclv  shore; 
lint    joined   in    love,   bevond   the   grave, 

Tlrey  jart  no  more!   thcv   part   no  more! 

Will  I  \M   \Vi\Ti;u. 
8.3 


WHEN    SPARROWS   15CIL1),    AND   THE    LEAVES   BREAK   FORTH. 


When  sparrows  l)uil(l,  iuul  tlic  leaves  break  forth, 
My  old  sorrow  wakes  and   (;ries, 

»4 


WHEN  SPARROWS  BUILD,  AND  THE  LEAVES  BREAK  FORTH.     85 

For  I  know  there  is  dawn  in  the  far,  far  iinvtlK 

And  a  scarlet  sun  doth  rise  ; 
Like  a  scarlet  fleece  the  snow-field  spreads, 

And  the  icy  founts  run  free ; 
And  the  bergs  begin  to  bow  their  heads. 

And  plunge  and  sail  in  the  sea. 

O,  my  lost  love,  and  my  own,  own  love. 

And  my  love  that  loved  me  so  ! 
Is  there  never  a  chink  in  the  world  above 

Where  they  listen  for  words  from  below  ? 
Nay,  I  spoke  once,  and  I  grieved  thee  sore  ; 

I  remember  all  that  I  said  ; 
And  now  thou  wilt  hear  me  no  more  —  no  more 

Till  the  sea  gives  up  her  dead. 

Thou  didst  set  thy  foot  on  the  ship,  and  sail 

To  the  ice-fields  and  the  snow  ; 
Thou  wert  sad,  for  thy  love  did  not  avail, 

And  the  end  I  could  not  know. 
How  could  I  tell  I  should  love  thee  to-day. 

Whom  that  day  I  held  not  dear  ? 
HoAv  could  I  know  I  should  love  thee  away 

When  I  did  not  love  thee  anear. 

We  shall  Avalk  no  more  through  the  sodden  plain 

With  the  faded  bents  o'ei'spread  ; 
We  shall   stand  no  more  by  the  sectliing  main 

W'hilc  the  dark  wrack  drives  o'erlicad  ; 
We  sliidl   ]K»rt  no   more  in    the  wind  ami   rain, 

WhtTf   thy  last  farewell  was  said ; 


86  FULFILMENT. 

But  perliaps  I  shall  meet  thee  and  know  thee  again 
When  the  sea  gives  up  her  dead. 

Jean  Ixgelow. 


FULFILMENT. 

Waking  in  May,  the  peach-tree  thought : 
"  Idle  and  bare  !  and  weaving  naught ! 
Here  have  I  slept  the  winter  through, 
I,  with  my  Master's  work  to  do  I  " 

Started  the  buds.     The  blossoms  came 
Till  all  the  branches  were  aflame. 
She  rocked  the  birds  and  wove  the  green, 
A  busy  tree  as  ever  was  seen  - 

Busy  and  bhthe.     She  drank  the  dew, 
She  caught  the  sunbeams  gliding  through  ; 
She  drew  her  wealth  from  sky  and  soil. 
And  rustled  gayly  in  her  toil. 


Now  see  the  peach-tree's  drooping  head. 
With  all  her  fruit  a-blushing  red. 
Knowing  her  Master's  work  is  done, 
She  meekly  resteth  in  the  sun. 

Mary  Elizabeth  Dodge. 


BLOW,   BLOW,  TilOU   WINTER   WL\D. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind ! 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 

As  man's  ingratitude  ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen, 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 

Althouoli   thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho  !  sing  heigh  ho !  luito  the  green  holly : 
3Iost  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 
Then,  heigh  ho  !  the  holly  ! 
This  life  is  most  jolly. 

Freeze,  freeze,  tliou  bitter  sky. 

Thou  dost  not  bite  so  niirh 
As  benefits  forgot ; 

Though  thou  the  waters  warp. 

Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remembered  not. 
Heigh  ho  !  sing  heigh  ho  I  unto  the  green  JioUy : 
3Iost  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 

Then,  heigh  ho!  the  holly! 

TJiis  life  is  most  jolly. 

Sir.VKKSl'KAKK. 


87 


THE   ROSE. 

Go,  lovely  rose ! 
Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  ine, 

That  now  she  knows, 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee, 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that's  young, 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts,  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  fi'om  the  light  retired ; 

Bid  her  come  forth. 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die  —  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee  : 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 
Tiiat  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair. 

Edmund  Waller. 
88 


A  DEAD  KOSK 

O  ROSE  !   Avlio  (lares  to  name  thee  ? 

No  longer  roseate  now,  nor  soft,  nor  sweet ; 

But  barren  and  hard,  and  dry  as  stubble-wheat : 

Kept  seven  years  in  a  drawer,  thy  titles  shame  thee. 

The  breeze  that  used  to  blow  thee 

Between  the  hedgerow  thorns,  and  take  away 

An  odor  up  the  lane,  to  last  all  day. 

If  l)reathino;  now,  unsweetened  would  forego  thee. 

The  sun  that  used  to  smite  thee. 

And  mix  his  glory  in  thy  gorgeous  urn, 

Till  beam  ajjpeared  to  bloom  and  flower  to  burn, 

If  sliiuincr  now,  with  not  a  hue  would  liiiht  thee. 

The  dew  that  iised  to  wet  thee, 

And,  white  first,  grew  incarnadiued,  because 

It  lay  upon  thee  where  the  crimson  was, 

If"  (h'opping  now,   would   darken  wliere   it   met  thee. 

The  flv   tliat    lit   ii|hiii    tlieo 
To  stretch  the  tendrils  of  its  tiny  feet 
Along  the  leaf's  pure  edges  after  ln'.it. 
If  liiih.tin"-  now,   would   coMIv   o\i'rrnn    thee. 

89 


90  THE   TIGER. 

The  bee  that  once  did  suck  thee, 
And  build  thy  perfumed  ambers  up  his  hive, 
And  swoon  in  thee  for  joy,  till  scarce  alive, 
If  passing  now,  would  blindly  overlook  thee. 


The  heart  doth  recognize  thee, 
Alone,  alone !     The  heart  doth  smell  thee  sweet, 
Doth  view  thee  fair,  doth  judge  thee  most  complete. 
Though  seeing  now  these  changes  that  disguise  thee. 


Yes,  and  the  heart  doth  owe  thee 

More  love,  dead  rose,  than  to  such  roses  bold 

As  Julia  wears  at  dances,  smiling  cold. 

Lie  still  upon  this  heart,  which  breaks  below  thee  ! 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


THE  TIGER. 


Tiger,  Tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Framed  thy  fearful  symmetry? 


In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burned  that  fire  within   thine  eyes  ? 


MY   KIVEK.  9] 


On  ^vllat  wings  dared  he  aspire  ? 
^^'llat  tlie  liand  dare  seize  the  fire  ? 


And  what  sliouldcr,  and  what  art, 
Coukl  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart  ? 
When  thv  heart  beran  to  beat. 
What  dread  hand  formed  thy  dread  feet? 


What  the  hammer,  what  the  eliain. 
Knit  tliy  strength  and  forged  thy  brain  ? 
What  the  anvil?      Wliat  dread  grasp 
Dare  thy  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 


\Mien  the  stars  threw  dowai  their  spears, 
And  Avater'd  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  He  smile  his  work  to  see  ? 
Did  He  who  made  tlie  lamb  make  thee? 

William  Blakk, 


MY  RTVKi;. 

ltL\i:u  I  my   Kivcr,   in   tlu-  young  sunsliiiifl 
r)h,  clasp  afresh   in   thine  embra<'e 

This  longing,  bnrniiig  frame  of  mine. 

And  kiss  mv  l)reast,  and  kiss  ni\    taee  ! 


92  MY   RIVER. 

So,  tlioro  I  —  Ha,  ha  !  —  already  in  thine  anns, 

I  feel  thy  love,  I  shout,  I  shiver  ! 

But  thou   out-laughest  loud  a  flouting  song,  proud  River  ; 
And  now  again  my  bosom  warms. 

TJie  droplets  of  the  golden  sun-light  glide 

Over  and  off  me,  sparkling,  as  I  swim 
Hither  and  thither  down  thy  mellow  tide,  * 

Or  loll  amid  its  crypts  with  outstretched  limb. 
I  fling  abroad  mine  arms,  and  lo ! 

Thy  wanton  waves  curl  slyly  round  me  ; 

But  ere  their  loose  chains  have  well  bound  me, 
Again  they  burst  away,  and  let  me  go. 

0  sun-loved  River !    wherefore  dost  thou  hum. 

Hum,  hum  alway,  thy  strange,  deep,  mystic  song 
Unto  the  rocks  and  strands?  —  for  they  are  dumb. 

And  answer  nothincr  as  thou  flowest  alono-. 
Why  singest  so,  all  hours  of   nioht  and  day  ? 

Ah,  River !    my  best  River  !    thou,  I  guess,  art  seeking 

Some  land  where  souls  have  still  the  gift  of  speaking 
With  Nature,  in  her  own  old,  wondrous  way. 

I^o  !    highest  heaven  looms  far  below  me  here ; 

I  see  it  in  thy  waters,  as  they  roll  : 
So  beautiful,  so  blue,  so  clear  — 

'T  would  seem,  O  River  mine,  to  be  thy  very  soul  ! 
Oh  !  could  I  hence  dive  down  to  such  a  sky. 

Might  I  but  bathe  my  spirit  in   that  glory, 

So  far  out-shining  all  in  ancient  fairy  story, 

1  would,  indeed,  have  joy  to  die. 


UY  la^'ER.  9:j 

What,  on  cold  earth,  is  deep  as  thou  ?     Is  aught  ? 

Love  is  as  deep,   Love  only  is  as  deep. 
Love  lavishetli   all  ;  yet  loseth,  lacketh,  naught. 

Like  thee,  too.   Love  can   neither  pause  nor  sleep. 
Roll   on,  thou  loving  River,  then  !     Lift  up 

Thy  waves  —  those  eyes,  bright  with  a  riotous  laughing! 

Thou  niakest  me  immortal.      I  am  quaffing 
The  wine  of  rapture  from  no  earthly  cup. 

At  last  thou  bearest  me,  with  soothing  tone. 

Rack  to  thy  bank  of  rosy  flowers  : 
Tlianks  then,  and  fare  thee  well!  —  enjoy  tliy  bliss  alone; 

And  through  the  year's  melodious  hours 
Echo  forever,  from  thy  bosom  broad, 

All  fflorious  tales  that  sun  and  moon  be  telling ; 

And  woo  down  to  their  soundless  fountain-dwelling 

The  holy  stars  of  God  ! 

Eduahd  I\Ioeuike  (German)- 
Tran-lation  of  James  Ci.AnicNCK  Mangan. 


^r%f\^'0M 


(Ui"..'l;'^' 


SONG    OF   THE    BROOK. 

I   coiMH  from  luuints  of  coot  and  lioni  ; 

I  make  a  sudden   sally, 
And  sparkle   out  amouii;  the  fern. 

To  1)icker  down  a  valley. 

1)4 


SONG    OF    THE    UUOOK.  <J0 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges  : 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 

And  halt*  a  hundred  bridjies. 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow, 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  fro  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  wavs, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles  ; 
1  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret. 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fiiiry  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 


I   chatter,  chatter,  as  I   flow 
To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  w>  on  forever. 

I   wind  about,  and   in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 

And  here  and   there  a   lusty    trout. 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling, 


96 


SON(;    UF    THE    UliOOK. 


And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel, 
With  many  a  silvery  waterbreak 

Above  the  golden  gravel ; 


And   draw  them  all  alonii',  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river  : 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 


But   I   <j[o  on  forever. 


I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots  ; 
I  slide  bv  hazel  covers  ; 


THE    CALL.  97 


I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 
That  grow  for  ha])py  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance, 

Among  my  skimming  swallows  . 
1  make  the  netted  sxnibeam  danco 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murnnu'  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses  ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars  ; 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses. 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow, 

To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 
For  men  mav  come  and  men  mav  <iu, 


But  I  go  on  forever. 


Alfrkd  Tennyson 


THE   CALL. 


Awake  thee,  my  lady-love, 

Wake  thee  and  rise  ! 
The  sun  through  the  bower  peeps 

Into  thine  eyes  ! 

Behold  how  the  early  lark 

Springs  from  the  corn  ! 
Hark,   hnik  !   how  the   tloucr-hii-d 

Winds  lier  wee  horn  ! 


98  THE   SEA. 


The  swallow's  glad  shriek  is  heard 

All  through  the  air ; 
The  stock-dove  is  murmuring, 

Loud  as  she  dare. 


Apollo's  ^Yinged  bugleman 

Cannot  contain, 
But  peals  his  loud  trumpet-call 

Once  and  again ! 


Then  wake  thee,  my  lady-love  — 

Bird  of  my  bower ! 
The  sweetest  and  sleepiest 

Bird  at  this  hour ! 


George  Dahly. 


THE  SEA. 

Thkough  the  night,  through  the  night, 

In  the  saddest  unrest. 
Wrapt  in  white,  all  in  wliite, 

AVith  her  babe  on  her  breast, 
Walks  the  mother  so  pale. 
Staring  out  on  the  gale 

Through  the  night ! 


IMIDSUMMER.  99 


Tliroiigli  the  niglit,  through  the  uiglit. 
Where  tlie  sea  lifts  the  Avreck, 

Land   in  siglit.  close  in  sight! 
( )n  the  surf-flooded  deck 

Stands  the  father  so  brave, 

Drivino-  on  to  his  ijrave 


Throuo'h  the  nio-lit ! 


Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 


MIDSUMMER. 

The  Summer  floats  on  even  wing, 

jSor  sails  more  far,  nor  draws  more  near ; 

Poised  calm  l^etween  tlie  budding  spring. 
And  sweet  decadence  of  tlio  vear. 


In  shadowed  iields  the  cattle  stand, 
The  dreaming  river  scarcely  flows. 

The  sky  hangs  cloudless  o'er  the  land, 
And   notln'no-  (•f)mes  and  nothinfj  goes. 


A   [>aiise  of  fullness  set  between 

The  sowing  and   the  r('a])ing  time; 

What   is  to  be   and   what   has   been 

Joined   eaeli   t<j  each   in   jici-fcrt    rhyme. 


100  DIRGE. 

So  comes  high  noon  'twixt  morn  and  eve, 
So  comes  full  tide  '  twixt  ebb  and  flow, 

Or  midnight  '  tAvixt  the  day  we  leave 
And  that  new  day  to  which  we  go. 


Full,  fruitful  hours  by  growing  won, 

A  restful  space  'mid  old  and  new ; 
When  all  there  Avas  to  do  is  done, 
And  nothing  yet  there  is  to  do. 

No  days  like  these  so  deeply  blest. 
That  look  nor  backward  nor  before  ; 

Their  large  fulfilment,  ample  rest, 
Make  life  flow  Avider  evermore. 


Louisa  Bushxell. 


DIRGE. 


If  thou  Avilt  ease  thine  heart 
Of  loA^e,  and  all  its  smart  — 

Then  sleep,  dear,  sleep ! 
And  not  a  sorroAV 
Hang  any  tear  on  your  eyelashes. 

Lie  still  and  deep. 
Sad  soul,  until  the  sea-Avave  Avashi^s 
The  rim  o'  the  sun  to-morrow. 

In  eastern  sky. 


DllIFTJXG.  lUi 

But   wilt  thou  cure  tliine  lieurt 
Of  love,  and  all  its  smart  — 

Then  die,  dear,  die  I 
'T  is  deeper,  sweeter, 
Tiian  on  a  rose-bank  to  lie  dreaniinir 

With  folded  eye  ; 
And  then  alone,  amid   the  l)eamin^ 
Of  LoA'e's  stars,   thou  'It  meet   lier 
In  eastern  skv. 

Thomas  Lovei  i.   I^kdduks. 


DRIFTING. 

My  soul  to-day 

Is  far  away, 
Sailino-  the  Vesuvian   Bay  ; 

My  winged  boat, 

A   bird   aHoat, 
Sw^ms  round   the  purple  peaks  remote 

Round    purjile   i)eaks 

It  sails,  and   seeks 
Blue  inlets  and   their  crystal   creeks, 

Where  high  rocks  tlirow, 

Througli  deei«   below, 
A   duplicated  golden  glow. 


102  DRIFTING.       • 

Far,  vague,  and  aim. 
The  mountains  swim  ; 

While  on  Vesuvius'  misty  brim. 
With  outstretched  liands 
The  gray  smoke  stands, 

O'erlookino;  tiie  volcanic  lands. 

Here  Isclua  smiles 

O'er  liquid  miles ; 
And  yonder,  bluest  of  the  isles. 

Calm  Capri  waits, 

Her  sapphire  gates 
Beo-uilinn;  to  her  bright  estates. 

I  heed  not  if 

My  rippling  skitf 
Float  swift  or  slow  from  cliff  to  cliff: 

With  dreamful   eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Under  the  walls  of  Paradise. 

Under  the  walls 

Where  swells  and  falls 
The  bay's  deep  breast  at  intervals. 

At  peace  I  lie. 

Blown  softly  by, 
A  cloud  upon  this  liquid  sky. 

The  day,  so  mild,      -j=>,',    m  Q 
Is  Heaven's  own  child, 
With  Earth  and  Ocean  reconciled ; 


DUIFTIXG.  103 

The  airs  I  feel 
Around   me  steal 
Are  murmuring  to  the  murmurino;  keel. 

Over  the  rail 

]My  hand  I  trail 
Witliin  the  shadow  of  the  sail  : 

A  joy  intense, 

The  coolino;  sense 
Glides  down  my  drowsy  indolence. 

Witli   dreamful   eyes 

My  spirit  lies 
Where  Summer  sings  and   never  dies  ; 

O'erveiled  with  vines, 

She  fjlows  and  shines 
Amoncp  her  future  oil  and  wines. 

Her  children,  hid 

The  cliffs  amid, 
Are  iiambollinir  with  the  o;ambolling  kid  , 

Or  down   the  walls, 

With  tipsy  calls. 
Laugh  on  the  rocks  like  waterfalls. 

The  fisher's  child. 

With  tresses  wild, 
Unto  the  smooth,  bright  sand  beguiled. 

With  glowing  lij)S 

Sings  as  she  skip'^. 
Or   ffi/es  at  the  far-oti"  ships. 


104  DRIFTING. 


Yon  deep  bark  goes 

Where  Traffic  blows, 
From  lands  of  sun  to  lands  of  snows  ^ 

This  happier  one, 

Its  course  is  run  — 
From  lands  of  snow  to  lands  of  sun. 

O  happy  ship, 

To  rise  and  dip, 
With  the  blue  crystal  at  your  lip  1 
-     O  hapjiy  crew. 

My  heart  with  you 
Sails,  and  sail?,  and  sings  anew  ! 

No  move,  no  more 

The  worldly  shore 
Upbraids  me  with  its  loud  uproar  ! 

With  dreami'ui  eves 

My  spirit  lies 
(Tnder  the  walls  of  Paradise  ! 

Thomas  Buchanan   Reai> 


THE  MINSTREL'S  SONG  IN  ELLA- 

O,  siXG  unto  my  rouncielay  J 

(J,  drop  tlie  l)riny  tear  with  iiie ! 
Dance  no  more  at  holiday: 
Like  a  running  river  be ! 
3Lj  love  is  dead, 
Crone  to  Jiis  death-bed. 
All  under  the  ivilhno  tree. 

Black  his  hair  as  the  winter  nio-ht, 
White  his  neck  as  the  summer  snow. 

Ruddy  his  face  as  the  morning  light ; 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below. 

Sweet  his  tonjiue  as  the  throstle's  note  ; 

Quick  in  dance  as  thought  can  be ; 
Deft  his  tal)or,  cudgel  stote. 

O I   he  lies  by  the  willow  tree. 

Hark  I    the   raven    flaps  his   wing, 

In    tlic    lirii'i'rd    drll    below  ; 
Hark!    the  death-owl   Iniid  doth  sing 

To  the  niirhtmarcs  as  thev  go. 
105 


106  THE  MINSTRP:L'S   song   JN   ELLA. 

See !    the  Avhite  moon  shines  on  liio-li  I 
Whiter  is  my  ti'ue-love's  shroud  — 

Whiter  than  the  morning  sky, 
Whiter  than  the  evenino-  cloud. 

Here,  upon  my  true-love's  grave, 
Shall  the  gairish  flowers  be  laid  ; 

Nor  one  holy  saint  to  save 
All  the  sorrows  of  a  maid. 

With  my  hands  I'll  bind  the  briers, 

Round  his  holy  corse  to  gre  ; 
Elf  and  fairy,  light  your  fires ! 

Here  my  body  still  shall  be. 

Come,  with  acorn-cup  and  thorn  ! 

Drain  my  heart's  blood  all  away  I 
Life  and  all  its  good  I  scorn  : 

Dance  by  night,  or  feast  hy  day! 
3Ii/  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  Ms  death-bed, 
All  under  the  loi'doiu  tree. 

Water-w  itches,  crowned   with  reytes, 

Bear  me  to  your  deadly  tide ! 
I  die  !  —  I  come  I     My  true-love  waits  ! 

Thus  the  damsel  spake  —  and  died. 

Thomas  Chatterton. 


(iUA    CURSU^r    VKXTl'S. 

As  shiiis  hi'calincd  at  eve,  that  lay 
With  canvas  droiipiiig-,  side  by  side, 

Two  towers  of  sail,  at  dawn  of  day 

Arc  scarce  long  leagues  apart  descriecl ; 


When   fell   tilt'  niglit,   ii]i-s])rung  llic  Krcr/c, 
Aiul   ;ill   llii'  darkling  hours  they  plifd  ; 

Nor   (livimil    lint    rarh    I  he   self-same   seas 
]>V   <'acli    was   clraviiig.   side    l>v   side  : 
1(»7 


108  QUA    CUKSUM   VENTUS. 

E'en  so  —  but  why  the  tale  reveal 

Of  those  whom,  year  by  year  unchano;e(l, 

Brief  absence  joined  anew,  to  feel, 

Astounded,  soul  from  soul  estranged  ? 

At  dead  of  night  their  sails  were  filled, 

And  onward  each  rejoicing  steered  ; 
Ah  !  neither   blame,    for   neither  willed 

Or  wist  what  first  with  dawn  appeared. 

To  veer,  how  vain  !     On,  onward  strain. 
Brave  barks  !  —  in  light,  in  darkness  too  ! 

Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides : 
To  that  and  your  own  selves  be  true. 

But  O  blithe  bi'eeze  !  and  O  great  seas ! 

Though  ne'er  that  earliest  parting  past. 
On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again  ; 

Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought  — 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  fare ; 

O  boundino-  breeze,   O  rushino;  seas. 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there  ! 

Ahtiiur  Hugh  Ci.ouoh 


AS   I   LAY   A-THINKIXG. 

As  I  lay  a-thiiikino-,  a-tliiiikino;,  a-tliiiikino;. 

Merry  sang  tlie   Bird  as  she  sat  uinin   the  spray: 
There  came  a  noble  Kniuht 
With   his  hauberk  sliinino-  bright, 
And  his  gallant  lieart  was  liglit  — 
Free  and  gay  ; 
And  as  I  lay  a-thinking,  he  I'ode  upon  his  way. 

As  I  lay  a-thinking,  a-thinking,  a-thinking, 

Sadly  sang  the  Bird  as  slie  sat  upon   the  tree: 
There  seemed  a  crimson   ]>lain. 
Where  a  o-allant  Kniiilit  lav  slain. 
And  a  steed   with    broken   rein 
Ran  free  : 
As  I  lav  a-thinkino-  —  most  pitiful  to  see! 

As  I  lay  a-thinking,   a-thinking,   a-thiid^ing. 

Merry  sang  the   Bird  as  she  sat  upon   the  bough  : 
A  lovely  Maid  came  by, 
And  a  gentle  Youth   was  nigh, 
And  he  breathed  many  a  sigh, 
And  a  vow  ; 
As  I  lav  a-thinkinir  —  her  lieart  was   o-ladsome  now. 

As  I  lay  a-thinking,  a-thinking,  a-thinking, 

Sadly  sang  the    Bird  as  she   sat   upnn    the    tlmrn  : 

No  more   a   ^'outh   was  there. 

But   a    ]\Iaiden    rent   her   haii', 
10!) 


110  AS   I   LAY   A-TIIIXKING. 

And  cried  in  sad  despair, 

"  That  I  was  born  !  " 
As  I  lay  a-tliinking,  she  perished  forlorn. 

As  I  lay  a-thinking,  a-thinking,  a-thinking, 

Sweetly  sang  the  Bird  as  she  sat  upon  the  brier : 
There  came  a  lovely  Child, 
And  his  foce  was  meek  and  mild. 
Yet  joyously  he  smiled 
On  his  sire  : 
As  I  lav  a-thinkino;  —  a  cherub  mioht  admire. 

But  as  I  lay  a-thinking,  a-thinking,  a-thinking. 

And  sadly  sang  the  Bird  as  it  perched  upon  a  bier, 
That  joyous  smile  was  gone, 
And  the  face  was  white  and  wan. 
As  the  down  upon  the  swan 
Doth  appear : 
As  I  lav  a-thinkiuii;,  oh  !  bitter  flowed  the   tear  ! 

As  I  lav  a-thinkino;,  the   o-olden   sun  was  sinkino;  — 

Oh  !  merrv  sans;  that  Bird  as  it  glittered  on  her  breast 
With  a  thousand  gorgeous  dyes, 
While,  soaring  to  the  skies, 
'Mid  the  stars  she  seemed  to  rise. 
As  to  her  nest. 
As  I  lay  a-thinking,  her  meaning  was  exprest : 
"  Follow,  follow  me  away  ! 
It  b()(jts  not  to  delay  :  " 
('T  was  so  she  seemed  to  say) 
"  Here  is  rest !  " 

RicnAKD  Harris  Barham 


TO    CYNTHIA. 

Queen  ami  Inintrcss,  chaste  and  fair. 
Now  the  sun   is  hiid  to  sleep, 

Seated  in  tliy  silver  chair, 

State  in   wonted  manner  keep: 

Hesperus  entreats   thy  light, 

Goddess  excellently  Ijright ! 

Earth.  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose  ; 
Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

Heaven  to  clear  when  day  did  close 
Bless  us,  then,  with   wished  sight. 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

Lay  thy  bow   of  pearl  apart. 

And  tliy  crystal-shining  (piiver  ; 
Give  unto  thv  flying  hart 

Space   to  breathe,  how  short  soever  : 
Thou  that  makest  a  day  of  night, 
Cofldess  excellentiv  bi-ijiht  I 


IiKN    JiiN-ioN. 


1  II 


TO   THE    GRASSHOPPER    AND    CHICKET. 

Geeen  little  vaulter  in  the  sunny  grass, 
Catching  jour  heart  up  at  the  feel  of  June! 
Sole  voice  that  's  heard  amidst  the  lazy  noon, 
When  even  the  bees  lag  at  the  suninionino;  brass! 
And  you,  warm  little  housekeeper,  who  class 
With  those  who  think  the  candles  come  too  soon, 
Loving  the  fire,  and  with  your  tricksome  tune 
Nick  the  glad  silent  moments  as  they  pass ! 

O  sweet  and  tiny  cousins  !  that  belong, 

One  to  the  fields,  the  other  to  the  hearth  ! 

Both  have  your  sunshine  ;  both,  though  small,  are  strong 

At  your  clear  hearts  ;  and  both  seem  given  to  earth 

To  sincp  in  thouo;htful  ears  this  natural  sono;  — 

In  doors  and  out,  summer  and  winter,  mirth  ! 

I.KiGH  Hunt. 


PASSING   THE   ICEBERGS. 

A  FEARLESS  shape  of  brave  device, 

Our  vessel  drives  through  inist  and  rain. 

Between  the  floatino;  fleets  of  ice  — 
The  navies  of  the  northern   main. 


irj 


PASSING   THE   ICEBERGS.  ,  H;; 

These  Arctic  ventures,  blindly  hurled, 

The  proofs  of  Nature's  oldeii  force. 
Like  fragments  of  a  crystal  world 

Long  shattered  from  its  skyey  course  — 

These  are  the  buccaneers  that  friirht 

The  middle  sea  with  dream  of  wrecks, 
And  freeze  the  soutii  winds  in  their  fliiiht. 

And  chain  the   Gulf-stream  to  their  decks. 

At  every  dragon  prow  and  lielm 

There  stands  some  Viking,  as  of  yore  : 
Grim   heroes  from  the  boreal  rcLdm 

Where  Odin  rules  the  spectral  shore. 

And  oft  beneath  the  sun  or  moon 

Their  swift  and  eager  falchions  glow, 
While,  like  a  storm-vexed  wind,  the  rune 

Comes  chafino;  throu<xh  some  beard   of  snow. 

And   when  the  far  North  Hashes  u}). 

With  fires  of  miiiirled  red  and  irold, 
They  know  that  many  a  blazing  cup 

Is  brimmino;  to  the  absent  bold. 


rt 


Up  signal  there  !  and  let  us  hail 
Yon  looming  phantom  as  we  pass  ! 

Note  all   liei"  fashion,   hull   and  sail. 
Within   the  compass  of  your  glass. 


II 


JU 


1'ASS1N(;    inZ    ICEliEllGS. 


See  ut  her  niiisf  the  stearlfast  is}o\v 
()^  tlint  one   star  of  (Jilin's   throne 

\Jp  with  onr  fiaii  I  and  let  ns  show 
The  constellation   on   onr  own. 


//)        .^ 


n,r 


i*%*--i  — T*,^ 


^> 


And   speak   her   well  ;   for  she   nijoht  say, 
If  from  hei-  heart  the  words  conld   thaw. 

Great  news  from  some  far  frozen  hav. 
Or  the  remotest  Esquimaux: 


Miii;ht   tell   of  channels  yet   untold, 

I'liat   sweep   the   pole    from    sea   to   sea  , 


PASSING   THE   ICEBERGS.  II5 

Of  lands  wliicli  God  designs  to  liold 
A  mighty  people  yet  to  be  ; 

Of  wonders  which  alone  prevail 

Where  day  and  darkness  dimly  meet ; 
Of  all  which  spreads  the  Arctic  sail ; 

Of  Franklin,  and  his  venturous  fleet : 

How,  haply,  at  sonie  glorious  goal 

His  anchor  holds,  his  sails  are  furled  ; 
That  Fame  has  named  him  on  her  scroll 

"  Columbus  of  the  Polar  world  I  " 

Or  how   his  plonghing  barks  wedge  on 

Through  splintering  fields,  with  battered  shares, 

Lit  only  by  that  spectral  dawn, 

The  mask  that  mocking  darkness  wears  ; 

Or  how,  o'er  embers  black  and  few. 

The  last  of  shivered  masts  and  spars, 
He  sits  amid  his  frozen  crew. 

In  council  with  the  norland  stars. 

No  answer — but  the  sullen  flow 

Of  ocean,   heaving  long  and  vast ; 
An  ai'gosy  of  ice  and  snow, 

The  voiceless  North  swings   proudly  jiast. 

Thomas  IU'ciiavan   Uiad 


THE   ANGLER'S    WISH. 

I    IN    tlic'se'    riowei'V   meads    would   hv  : 
'J'Ik'sc   fiTstal   stivams  should   solace   nie, 
To   whose  harmonious,   buhbliiio;  noise 
1    with    my   aiii2;le    would    rejoice  — 

Sit   here   and  see   the   turtle-dove 
Court  his  (diaste   mate  to  acts  of  love. 


Or  on   that   hank,   feel   the   west   wind 
Breathe   health   and   plenty  ;   ))lease   my   mind 

in; 


TO   THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

To  see  sweet  dew-drops  kiss  these  flowers, 
And  then   waslied  off  by  April  showers: 
Here  hear  my  Kenna  sing  a  song, 
There  see  a  bhickbird  feed  lier  vounir. 

Or  a  leverook  buihl  lier  nest  ; 

Here  give  my  weary  spirits  rest, 

And  raise  my  h)\v-])itciied  thouglits  above 

Earth,  or  what  poor  mortals  love  : 

Thus,  free  from  lawsuits,  and  the  noise 
Of  ])rinces'  courts,   I   would  rejoice. 

Or,  with  my  Bryan  and  a  book. 

Loiter  long  days  near  Shawford  brook. 

There  sit  by  him,  and  eat  my  meat  : 

There  see  the  sun   both  rise  and  set ; 

Tiiere  bid  good  morning  to  next  dav  ; 

There  meditate  my  time  awav  ; 

And  angle  on  ;  and   beg  to   have 

A   quiet  passage  to  a  welcome  ura\e. 

IsAAK  Walton 


li; 


TO   THK   NIGHTINGALE. 


<)    NloiiTlxoATJ-,.    that   on    von    blooinv   spi-av 

Warblest    at    ('\(>,    when    all    the    woods  are   still  ! 
Thou   wifli    JVesh    hope   the    lover's   jieai't   dost   fill, 

^^  hilc   the  jolly   hours  lead   on   jiropitions   Mav. 


1]8  THE   DWINA. 

Thy   liquid  notes  that  close  the   eye  of  day, 

First  heard  before  the  shallow  cuckoo's  bill, 
Portend  success  in  love.     0,  if  Jove's  will 

Have  linked  that  amorous  power  to  thy  soft  lay, 
Now  timely  sing,  ere  the  rude  bird  of  hate 

Foretell  my  hopeless  doom  in  some  grove  nigh  ; 
As  thou  from  year  to  year  hast  sung  too  late 

For  my  relief,  yet  hadst  no  reason   why. 

Whether  the  Muse  or  Love  call  thee  his  mate, 
Both  them  I  serve,  and  of  their  train  am  I. 

John  Milton. 


THE   DWINA. 

Stony-browed  Dwina,  thy  face  is  as  flint ! 
Horsemen  and  wao-ons  cross,  scorino-  no  dint : 
Cossacks  patrol  thee,  and  leave  thee  as  hard  ; 
Camp-fires  but  blacken  and  spot  thee,  like  pard  , 

For  the  dead,  silent  river  lies  rigid  and  still. 

Down  on  thy  sedgy  banks  picket  the  troops. 
Scaring  the  night-wolves  with  carols  and  whoops  ; 
Crackle  their  fagots  of  drift-wood  and  hay. 
And  the  steam  of  their  pots  fills  the  nostrils  of  day  ; 
But  the  dead,  silent  river  lies  riirid  and  still. 

Sledges  pass  sliding  from  hamlet  to  town  : 
Lovers  and  comrades  —  and  none  doth  he  drown  ! 


THE  DWIXA.  119 

Harness-bells  tinklino-  in  musical   Hce, 

For  to  none  comes  the  sorrow  that  came  unto  me  ; 

And  the  dead,  silent  river  lies  rigid  and  still. 

I  go  to  the  Dwina  ;   I  stand  on   his   wave. 
Where  Ivan,  my  dead,  has  no  irrass  on  In's  ^^fViwe  : 
Stronger  than  granite  that  coffins  a  Czar, 
Solid  as  pavement,  and  polished  as  spar  — 

Where  the  dead,  silent  river  lies  ri<iid  and  still. 

Stronger  than  granite  ?     Nay,  falser  than  sand  I 
Fatal  the  clasp  of  thy  slippery  hand  ; 
Cruel  as  vulture's  the  clutch  of  thv  claws  ; 
Who  shall  redeem  from   the  merciless  jaws 

Of  the  dead,  silent  river,  so  rigid  and  still  ' 

Crisp  lay  the  new-fallen  snow  on   thv   hreast, 
Trembled  the  white  moon  through  ha/.e  in   the   west ; 
Far  in   the  thicket  the  wolf-cub  was  howling, 
Down  by  the  sheep-cotes  the  wolf-dam   was  jjrowling  ; 
And   the   dead,   silent   ri\er  lay  rigid   and  still  : 

When   Ivan,  my  lover,  my   husband,  my   lord, 
Lin;htlv  and  ch(.'erily  stent  on  the  sward  — 
Light   with   his   hopes  of  the  morritw   and   me. 
That  the  reeds  (Jii   the   mai'gin   leaned  after  to  see; 

But  the  dead,  silent  liver  lay  riij;id  and  still. 

O'er  the   fresh   snow-fall,   the   winter-long   t'rost, 
O'er  the   broad   Dwina  the  forester  crost  : 


120  THE   DWINA. 

Snares  at  liis  girdle,  and  gun  at  his  side, 
Game-bag  weiglied  heavy  with  gifts  for  his  bride  ; 

And   the  dead,  silent  river  lay  rigid  and  still  — 

Rigid  and  silent,  and  crouching  for  prey. 
Crouching  for  him  who  went  singing  his  way. 
Oxen   were  stabled,  and  sheep  were  in  fold  ; 
But  Ivan  was  struo-o-liiifj  in  torrents  ice-cold, 

'Neath  the  dead,  silent  river,  so  rigid  and  still. 

Home  he  came  never.      We  searched  by   the  ford: 
Small  was  the  fissure  that  swallowed  my  lord  ; 
Glassv  ice-sheetings  had  frozen  above  — 
A  crystalline  cover  to  seal  up  my  love. 

In  the  dead,  silent  river,  so  rigid  and  still. 

Still   by  the  Dwina  my  home-torches  burn  ; 
Faithful  I  watch  for  my  bridegroom's  return. 
When  the  moon  sparkles  on  hoar-frost  and  tree, 
I  see  my  love  crossing  the  Dwina  to  me. 

O'er  the  dead,  silent  river,  so  rigid  and  still. 

Always  approaching,  he  never  arrives. 
Howls  the  northeast  wind,  the  dusty  snow  drives. 
Snapping  like  toucliAvood,  I  hear  the  ice  crack  — 
And  my  lover  is  drowned  in  the  water-hole  black, 

'Neath  the  dead,  silent  river,  so  rigid  and  still. 

Countess  Okloff.     (Russian. 
Translation  of  Mks.  Ogilvie. 


THE   KNIGHT'S   TOMP,. 

WnEKK  is  tlic  o-nive  of  Sir  Aftliur  O'KrIlvu  ? 

Wlici'c  inav   tlic   iirave   of  that  iiood   man    hi-  ? 
I>y   tlic   side   of  a   s|)i'iiiu!;   oti   tlic   In-caNt   of  I  Ichcllyii, 

Tender  the   twigs  of  a   vounii;   l)iivli-lr>'L'. 
The   oak   that   in   summer   was  sweet   to   he.-ir. 
And   rustled   its   leaves   in   the   fall    ^t^  ihe  year, 
And   whistled   and   i-oared   in   tht'   winter  ahme. 
Is   ffoue,   and   tlie   birch   in   its   stead   ha~;   ifrown. 

1-21 


122  KULNASATZ,    MY   REINDEER. 

The  knight's  bones  are  dust, 

And  his  good  sword  rust ; 

His  soul  is  with  the  saints,  I  trust. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleuidgk. 


kul:n"asatz,  i\iy  reindeek. 

KuLNASATZ,  my  reindeer. 
We  have  a  long  journey  to  go  ; 
The  moors  are  vast. 
And  we  must  haste, 
Our  strength,  I  fear. 
Will  fail  if  we  are  slow  : 
And  so 
Our  songs  will,  too. 

Kaige,  the  watery  moor, 
Is  pleasant  unto  me. 
Though  long  it  be, 
Smce  it  doth  to  my  mistress  lead 
Whom  I  adore  ; 
The  Kilwa  moor 
I  ne'er  again  will  tread. 

Tiioughts  filled  my  mind. 
Whilst  I  through  Kaige  passed 
Swift  as  the  wind. 


THE   ROSEBUD. 

Aiul   my  desire 
Winged  witli  impatient  fire  : 
Mv  reindeer,  let  us  haste  ! 

So  shall   we  quickly  end  our  pleasing  pain  — 

Behold  my  mistress  there, 
With  decent  motion  walking  o'er  the  plain  ! 
Kulnasatz,  my  reindeer, 
Look  yonder  !  where 

She  washes  in  the    lake  ! 
See  I   while  she  swims, 
Tlie  water  from  her  purer  limbs 
New  clearness  take  ! 

AxoxYMOUS.     (Icelandic.) 


123 


Anonviiious  Translation. 


THE   ROSEBUD. 

When  Nature  tries  her  finest  touch, 

Weaving  her  vernal   wreath, 
Mark  ye  how  close  she  veils  her  round. 
Not  to  be  traced  by  sight  or  sound, 
Nor  soiled  by  ruder  l)reath  ? 

Who  ever  saw  the  earliest   rose 

First  o])en  her  sweet  breast  ? 
Or,    when   the   sunnner  sun  goes  down, 
The  first  soft  star  in  evening's  crown 
Light  up  her  gleaming  crest  ? 


124  THE   ROSEBUD. 

Fondly   we  seek  the  dawning  bloom 
On  features  wan  and  fair : 

The  gazing  eye  no  change  can  trace  ; 

But  look  away  a  little  space  — 

Then  turn  —  and  lo  !  'tis  there. 

But  there  's  a  sweeter  flower  than  e'er 

Blushed  on  the  rosy  spray, 
A  brighter  star,  a  richer  bloom. 
Than  e'er  did  western  heaven  illume 
At  close  of  summer  day. 

'T  is  love,  the  last  best  gift  of  Heaven  — 

Love,  gentle,  holy,  pure  ! 
But,  tenderer  than  a  dove's  soft  eye, 
The  searching  sun,  the  open  sky. 
She  never  could  endure. 

Even  human  love  will  shrink  from  sight, 

Here  in  the  coarse  rude  earth  : 
How  then  should  rash  intrudincr  olance 
Break  in  upon  her  sacred  trance 

Who  boasts  a  heavenly  birth  ? 

So  still  and  secret  is  her  growth. 

Ever  the  truest  heart. 
Where  deepest  strikes  her  kindly  root. 
For  hope  or  joy,  for  flower  or  fruit. 
Least  knows  its  hajipy  pai't. 


THE   ROSEBUD. 

God  only,  and  ooud  angels,  look 

Behind  the  blissful  screen  — 
As   when,   triumphant  o'er  His  woes, 
The  Son  of  God  by  moonlight  rose, 
Bv  all  but  heaven  unseen  : 

As   when   the   holy   Maid   b^dield 

Her  risen   Son   and    Lord  ; 
Thouffht  hath   not  colors   half  so  fair 
That  she  to  paint  that  hour  mav  dare. 

In  silence   best  adored. 

The  o;racious  Dt)V^e,  that  In'ouirht  from  hea\eij 

The  earnest  of  our  bliss. 
Of  many  a  chosen   witness  telling, 
()n   many  a  happy  vision  dwelling. 

Sings  not  a  note  of  this. 

So,  truest  image  (tf  the  Christ, 

Old   Israel's  long-lost  son, 
What  time,   witli   sweet  forgiving  clieL-r. 
He   called   his  conscious  brctliii'M    n^'ar, 

Would  weep  with   them  alone  : 

He   could   not   trust   his   melting  -oul 

But   in    his    .Maker's   sight  ; 
Then   why  should  gentle  hearts  and  tni<^ 
Bare   to  the   i-ude   world's   withering   \i''W 

Tlirir  treasure  of  deliirht. 


12o 


126  SO^'G. 


No  !  let  the  dainty  rose  awhile 

Her  bashful  fragrance  hide  ; 
Rend  not  her  silken  veil  too  soon, 
But  leave  her  in  her  own  soft  noon 
To  flourish  and  abide. 

John  Keble. 


SOXG 


Trickles  fast  the  April  shower, 

Like  the  maiden's  tear, 
In  the  tardy  trysting  hour. 

And  no  lover  near. 

Joy,  be  sure,  will  soon  return  ; 

See,  out-shines  the  sun  ! 
Earth  will  bloom  and  cheeks  will  burn 

\Vith  blushes  many  a  one. 

Heaven  will  bless  the  happy  glow, 

So  the  heart  be  true  : 
Sun  and  shower  may  flit  and  flow. 


Love  will  shine  all  through. 


The  Afterglow. 


BOATMAN'S   HYMX. 

Bark,  tliat  bears  me  tlirono-h  foam  and  scuiall, 

You  in   tlie  storm  are  my  castle-wall  ! 

Though  the  sea  should  redden  from  l)ottom  to  top, 

From   tilhn'  to  mast  she   takes  no  (h'op. 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top  — 
Wherry  aroon^  my  land  and  store  ! 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top, 
She  is  the  boat  can  sail  galore ! 

She  dresses  herself,  and  goes  gliding  on, 
Like  a  dame  in  her  robes  of  the  Indian   lawn  : 
For  God  has  blessed  her,  gunnel   and   wale  — 
And   O  !  if  you  saw  her  stretch  out  to   the  gale. 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top  — 
Wherry  aroon,  my  land  and  store  ! 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top. 
Site  is  the  boat  can  sail  galore ! 

Whillan  ahoy  !  —  Old  heart  of  stone, 
Stooping  so  black  o'er  the  beach  alone, 
Answer  me  well  :  on   the   burstinii'  bi'ine 
Saw  you  e\er  a   bark   like   uiiiie. 

On  the  tide  ti>/>,   ihr  tide  top? 

Wherry  aroon,  my  land  and  store! 

On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top. 

She  is  the  boat  can  sad  gah-re ! 

127 


128 


r.OATMAN'S    IIY]\IX. 


Says  AVliillan,  Siiu-o  first  I  was  made  of  stone, 

I  ]ia\^e  looked  abroad  o'er  the  beach  alone; 

But,  till  to-day,  on  the  bursting  brine, 

Saw  I  never  a  bark  like  thine  ! 

On  the  tide  top^  the  tide  top  — 
Wherry  aroon^  my  land  and  store  ! 
On  the  tide  top^  the  tide  top^ 
She  is  the  hoat  can  sail  galore  ! 


^A. 


God  ol'  tli(!  air  !  tlie  seamen  shout, 

AVlicii  they  see  us  tossing  the  brine  about. 


Ur-IIILL. 

Give  us  the  slielter  of  strand  or  rock, 

Or  througli  and  througli  us  she  goes  with  a  shock! 

On  the  tide  top^  the  tide  top  — 

Wherry  aroon,  my  land  and  store ! 

On  the  tide  top^  the  tide  top, 

She  is  the  boat  can  sail  yalore  ! 

AxoxvMOUS.     (Iribli.) 
Translation  of  Samuei.  Ferguson. 


120 


i^'.::.Xfr 


ur-inij.. 


D0K8   the   i-(iad    wlnil    ii|i-Iiill    all    tlir    wav? 

Yes,    to    till'    \ry\-   v\\<\. 
Will   the   day's  journi'V   take   the    \vlioIi«   long  <lay  ? 

From    morn    to   niglit,   \i\\    I'rirnd. 


130  IF   ALL   WERE   RAIN   AND   NEVER  SUN. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  ? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin  ? 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  ? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night  ? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight  ? 

The}'  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  that  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak  ? 

Of  labor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


IF   ALL   AVERE   RAIN   AND  NEVER   SUN. 

If  all  were  rain  and  never  sun 

No  bow  could  span  the  hill ; 
If  all  were  sun  and  never  rain, 

There'd  be  no  rainbow  still. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


WAKK,   T.ADY  ! 

Ur  !    (luit   tliv   bower  I    late   wears  the   liour, 
I.oiiii;  have   tlie   rooks  cawed   I'ound   tlie  tower 
O'er  flowei-  and   tree  loud   limns   the  bee, 
And   the   wild   kid  s]iorts  merrily. 
The  sun   is  brii;ht,   the   sky   is  el'-ar  : 
Wake,   ladv,   wake  !    and   liastrn   here. 


T^[)  !    maiden    tiiir,    and    Imul    thy    hali-. 
And    I'ouse    thee    in    ihr    lu'ee/y   an'. 

1.1 1 


132  THE   MERRY   LARK   WAS  UP   AND   SINGING. 

The  lulling  stream  that  soothed  thy  dream 
Is  dancino;  in  the  sunny  beam. 
Waste  not  these  hours,  so  fresh,  so  gay : 
Leave  thy  soft  couch,  and  haste  away  ! 

Up  !    Time  will  tell  the  morning  bell 
Its  service-sound  has  chimed  well  ; 
The  aged  crone  keeps  house  alone, 
The  reapers  to  the  fields  are  gone. 
Lose  not  these  hours,  so  cool,  so  gay  : 
Lo !    while  thou  sleep'st  they  haste  away  ! 

JoANXA  Baillie. 


THE   MERRY   LARK   WAS   UP   AND   SINGLNG. 

The  merry,  merry  lark  was  up  and  singing. 

And  the  hare  was  out  and  feeding  on  the  lea. 
And  the  merry,  merry  bells  below  were  ringing, 

When   my  child's  laugh  rang  through  me. 
Now  the  hare  is  snared,  and  dead  beside  the  snow-yard. 

And  the  lark  beside  the  dreary  winter  sea. 
And  my  baby  in  his  cradle  in  the  churchyard 

Waitcth  there  until  the  bells  bring  me. 

ClIAKLES    KlNGSLF.y. 


THE   WKKCK    OF   THE    HESl'EKUS. 

It  \\as  the  schooner  Hesperus 

That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  In's  little  daughter, 

To  bear  him  company.  - 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  dav, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthoi-n  buds 
That  oj)e  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm  : 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  ; 
And  he  watched  how  the  veerinji  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  —  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  uj)  and   sj)ake  an  old  sailor, 

Had  sailed  the  Spanish  main  : 
"  I  ]>ray  thee,  ])ut  into  yonder  port  ; 

For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  ni<rht  the  moon   had  a  ifuMfn   i'in<i, 

And  to-nio;ht  no  nioon   we  x'c  ! 
The  skipper  he   blew  a    whilf  Innu   his   I'ipc. 

And   a  scdrnfnl   liiii^h    lauulicd   li'-. 


ir.\ 


134  THE   WRECK   OF   THE   HESPERUS. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  nortli-east ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed  , 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither,  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter. 

And  do  not  tremble  so  ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  rouiihest  e;ale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat, 

Aoainst  the  stinmno;  blast : 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar. 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  O  father,  I  hear  the  church-bells  rinn; ! 

O  say  what  may  it   be  ?  " 
"  'Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast ! '' 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father,  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns  ! 

O  say  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  anirrv  sea  !  " 


THE   WRECK   OF   THE   HESPERUS.  I35 

"  O  father,  1  see  a  gleaming  light ! 

O  say  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word  : 

A  frozen  corpse  was   he. 

Laslied  to  the  helm,  all  stitf  and  stark. 

With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  o-leamed  throuo-h  the  fjleamino;  snow 

On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed, 

That  saved  she  miglit  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  throuo;h  the  midnio;ht  dark  and  dreai, 
Through  the  whistlino;  sleet  and  snow. 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost  the  vessel   swept, 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 


And  ever,  the  fitful  gusts  between, 
A  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 
On  the  rocks  and  tlu'  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows 
She  di-Ift<-d  a  di-eary  wreck  ; 

And  a   \\hooping  billow  swept  the  crew, 
Like   icicles,   frnin    licr  dfck. 


136  THE    WRECK   OF   THE    HESPERUS. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 
Looked  soft  as  carded  wool  ; 

But  tlie  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank : 
Ho  !  ho  !  the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair. 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 


& 


The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast. 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed. 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

Li  the  midnight  and  the  snow. 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe ! 

Henry  Wadswortii  Lonofkllo-.v 


TIIK    VOX    IirXTKlJS. 


r 


^jf^r--    "I>i-i]i<T  out  yer  f'ox-lioun's,  Jasi) 

'r%'^  ,  "  .  ... 

An'  let  'cin   snuff  tlic   niorniu'   ;iir 


So  lliundoi'od  at  tlu^  eal)in  door 
(  )t"  grizzly   Jasper  in   tlic  ^Icn, 
The  kcfucst    sliot  on   llonion's  slioro, 
^  Known     miles     around     as     IJearskin 

Whoso  weatlier-beaten  visaw  horo 


■"   V 


'y\ 


le    I  rael<s   ot    lill  V    years  and    leu. 


Plltie    llic    liraNC  old     lioun"    wliose  \diee 

I  \\\  \  S     lilrllc  iwc|-     1  Ii;i  II     ;|     inrel  ill"  licll  ; 

J^oosc   silk-eai'il    Pan    lor    ine,    iii\  clioicc 

'AIoiiii-   all    till'    doLi's    in    I'liMMT  I)f!l: 


■138  THE   FOX-HUNTERS. 

They're  a  pair  to  make  the  heart  rejoice 

An"  bound  like  a  buck  when  hunted  well  I  " 

Gray  Jasjier  hears  his  comrade  call, 
And,  whistling  to  his  eager  j)ack, 

Do^vn  snatches  from  the  cabin-wall 
His  rifle,  hung  on  stag-horn  rack  ; 

Bids  wife  farewell  till  twilight-fall, 

And  strides  away  on  the  red-fox  track. 

O'er  mountain-crest,  'cross  lowland  vale, 
Where  Hero  hotly  leads  the  chase, 

These  bluff  old  woodsmen  press  the  trail. 
Close  Indian-file,  with  tireless  pace  — 

Till,  hark  I  the  fox-hound's  cleep-toned  hail 
Proclaims  the  same  on  the  home-stretch  race. 


&" 


Athwart  the  brow  of  Chester  Hill 
Scared  Reynard,  like  a  blazing  sun, 

Flies  cm  before  his  foes  until, 

O'erleaping  rock  and  ice-bound  run. 

He  draws  the  aim  of  Jasper  Gill 
Alonsx  the  barrel  of  his  o-un. 


&' 


The  ledges  ring  to  the  rifle's  crack 
The  fatal  bullet  whistles  past  I 

A    loud  "•  halloo  "  comes  echoing  back 
To  Bearskin  Ben,  on  the  rising  blast : 

A  crimson  stream  bedves  the  track  :  — 
And  Reynard  strikes  his  flasx  at  last  I 


TFIK    VOX   IIT'XTF.ns. 


1  no 


\\-yr>*A;j^),i'faiiw«vULil'i,.rj'./i\'S\'S'ff 


"•Cull    ill   tlic   (loo's  I '■   cries   Jasper   (rill: 
"  Tli(!   spoi-t    is   (joiic,    the.  chase   is   o'er  :  — 

I've  gi'u  yon    tliicvin"   skulk   a    pill! 
lie  II    r<il)   my    pniilt  rv-\  ard    no   iiKtre. 

Come.     IJeii.    let's    l)e;it    to    the    eahill    sill. 

Where    the    old    wife    \\;iits    lis    ;it    the    door."" 


licsidc   ;i    roiiriiiL;'   liickor\    l)l;i/.e. 

With    l;iiiL;h   ;iiid    joke   :iiid    rustic   cheer. 
Tliese  ylil)-(oii^iicd   crmiies   soiniii    the   praise 

Of  dot;  and   i;iiii    in    MdIK's  ear. 
I  ill    the    uld    daines    needle   almost    |ila\s 

A    liiiie    through    lii'i-  wn(,(|    mans    hunt  iiiLC-LT'Mr. 

(i.      II.      I'.AKNKS 


THE   LOVER   TO   THE    GLOW-WORMS. 

Ye  living  lamps,  by  whose  dear  light 

The  nightino-ale  does  sit  so  late, 
And,  studying  all  the  summer  night, 

Her  matchless  songs  does  meditate  ! 

Ye  country  comets,  that  portend 

No  war,  nor  prince's  funeral  — 
Shinino;  unto  no  other  end 

Than  to  presage  the  grass's  fall ! 

Ye  p-low-worms,  whose  officious  flame 
To  wanderino;  mowers  shows  the  way, 

That  in  the  night  have  lost  their  aim 
And  after  foolish  fires  do  stray  ! 

Your  courteous  lights  in  vain  vou  waste, 

Since  Juliana  here  is  come  ; 
For  she  my  mind  hath  so  displaced. 

That  I  shall  never  find  my  home. 

Andrew  Mauvki.i., 


THE   WEE    GREEN   NEUK. 

O  THE  wee  green  neuk,  the  sly  green  neuk, 

The  wee  sly  neuk  for  me  ! 
Whare  the  wheat  is  wavin'  bright  and  brown. 

And  the  wind  is  fresh  and  free  : 
140 


TIIK    WEE   GREEN   NEUK.  141 

Wliare  I   weave  wild  weeds,  and  out  o'  reeds 

Kerve   wliissles  as  I  lay, 
And  a  douce  low  voice  is  murmurin'  by, 

Through  the  lee-lang  simmer  day ! 

And  whare  a'  things  luik  as  though  thev  lo'ed 

To  languish  in  the  sun, 
And  that  if  they  feed  the  fire  they  dree 

They  wadna  ae  pang  were  gone  ; 
Whare  the  lift  aboon  is  still  as  death. 

And  bright  as  life  can  be  ; 
While  the  douce  low-  voice  says  Na,  na,  na  ! 

But  ye  mauna  luik  sae  at  me  ! 

Whare  the  lang  rank  bent  is  saft  and  cule, 

And  freshenin'   till  the  feet ; 
And  the  spot  is  sly,  and  the  spinnie  high, 

Whare  my  luve  and   I   niak  seat ; 
And  I  tease  her  till  she  rins,  and  then 

I  catch  her  roun'  the  tree. 
While  the  poppies  shak'   their  heids  and  blush : 

Let  'em  blush  till  they  drap,  for  me  ! 

0  the  wee  green  neuJc,  the  sly  green  neuk. 

The  wee  sly  neuk  for  me  ! 
Whare  the  wheat  is  tvaviri'  bright  and  hroivn. 

And  the  ivind  is  fresh  and  free  ! 

PiuMP  James  Bailrt. 


A   VIOLET. 

God  does  not  send  ns  strange  flowers  everv   year. 
When  the  spring  winds  blow  o'er  the  pleasant  places, 
The  same  dear  things  lift  np  the  same  fair  faces. 
Tlie  \'iolet  is  here. 

It  all  comes  back :  the  odor,  grace,  and  hue  ; 
Each  sweet  relation  of  its  life  repeated  : 
No  blank  is  left,  no  looking-for  is  cheated  ; 
It  is  the  thine:  we  knew. 


'O 


So  after  the  death-winter  it  must  be. 
God  will  not  put  strange  signs  in  the  heavenly  places  : 
The  old  love  shall  look  out  from  the  old  faces. 
Veilchen  I  I  shall  have  thee  I 

Ad i; LINK   I).  T.  Wihtnky. 


THE    SONGSTER. 


A    MIDSUMMER    CAHOL. 


Within  our  sunnner  hermitage 

I   have  an  a\iary, — 
'Tis  but  a  little,  rustic   cag(\ 
That  holds  a  <;olden-Avinired  ('anarv: 
A    1)ird  with   no  companion   ol"  his  l^ind 

liut   wlicn    the   warm   south   wind 
113 


14 i  THE   SONGSTER. 

Blows,  from  rathe  meadows,  over 

The  honey-scented  clover, 
I  hang  him  in  the  porch,  that  he  may  hear 
The  voices  of  the  bobolink  and  thrush. 

The  robin's  joyous  gush, 
The  bluebird's  warble,  and  the  tunes  of  all 
Glad  matin  songsters  in  the  fields  anear. 

Then,  as  the  blithe  responses  vary, 

And  rise  anew,  and  fall, 
In  every  hush 

He  answers  them  again. 

With  his  own  wild,  reliant  strain, 
As  if  he  breathed  the  air  of  sweet  Canary. 


ri. 


Bird,  bird  of  the  golden  ^^ang. 
Thou  lithe,  melodious  thing  ! 

Where  hast  thy  music  found  ? 
What  fantasies  of  vale  and  vine. 
Of  cflades  where  orchids  intertwine. 
Of  palm-trees,  garlanded  and  crowned, 
And  forests  flooded  deep  with  sound  — 
"\^^hat  high  imagining 
Hath  made  this  carol  thine  ? 
By  what  instinct  art  thou  bound 
To  all  rare  harmonies  that  be 

In  those  green  islands  of  the  sea, 
Where  thy  radiant,  a\  ildwood  kin 
Their  madrigals  at  morn  beghi. 


THE   SONGSTER.  145 

Above  tlie  rainbow  and  the  roar 
Of  the  long  billow  from  the  Afrie  shore? 

Asking  other  gnardon 

None,  than  Heaven's  light. 
Flolding  thy  crested  head  aright, 

Tliy  melod_y's  sweet  burden 

Thou  dost  proudly  utter, 
With  many  an  ecstatic  flutter 
And  ruffle  of  thy  tawny  throat 

For  each  delicious  note. 
—  Art  thou  a  waif  from  Paradise, 

In  some  fine  moment  wrouo-ht 
P)y  an  artist  of  the  skies. 

Thou  Avinged,  cherubic  Thought  ? 

P)ird  of  the  amber  beak, 

IJird  of  the  a'oldcn  winu"  I 
Thy   dowt-r  is  thy  carolling; 

Thou  hast  not  far  to  seek 

Thy  l>read,  nor  needest  wine 
To  make  thine  utterance  divine  ; 
Thou  art  canopied  and  clothed 

And  unto  Song  betrothed  ! 
Ill   tliy  lone  aerial  cage 
Thoii   liasl    ihiiie  ancient  heritage; 
'J'lierL-  is  no  task-work  on   th(M'   laid 
P>ut   tr»  reliearse   tlu'  ditties  tliou   hast   made; 

'IliDii   liast  a   lordly   store 
And,   tlioiigli    tlioii   si-attcrest    them   tree, 

Art   rii-lifi'   ili;iii    briore, 
Holding   ill    fee 
The  ulad   doiuain   of   ininstrclsw 


146  thp:  songster. 

ni. 

Brave  songster,  bold  Canary  I 
Thou  art  not  of  thy  listeners  wary, 
Art  not  timorous,  nor  chary 

Of  quaver,  trill,  and  tone, 

Each  perfect  and  thine  own  ; 
But  renewest,  shrill  or  soft. 
Thy  greeting  to  the  upper  skies, 
Chanting  thy  latest  song  aloft 
With  no  tremor  nor  disguise. 
Thine  is  a  music  that  defies 

The  envious  rival  near  ; 

Thou  hast  no  fear 
Of  the  day's  vogue,  the  scornful  critic's  sneer. 

Would,  O  wisest  bard,  that  now 

I  could  cheerly  sing  as  thou  I 
Would  I  might  chant  the  thoughts  which  on  me  t'.ir.mg, 
For  the  very  joy  of  song  ! 

Here,  on  the  written  page, 
I  falter,  yearning  to  impart 

The  vague  and  wandering  murmur  of  my  hc?art. 
Haply  a  little  to  assuage 
This  human  restlessness  and  pain. 

And  half  forget  my  chain : 
Thou,  unconscious  of  thy  cage, 
Showerest  music  everywhere  ; 

Thou  hast  no  care 
But  to  pour  out  the  largesse  thou  hast  won 
From  the  south  wind  and  the  sun  : 


SONG.  14" 

There  are  no  prison-bars 
BetAvixt  tliY  tricksy  spirit  and  the  stars. 

When  from  its  delicate  clay 
Thy  little  life  shall  pass  away, 

Thou  wilt  not  meanly  die, 
Nor  voiceless  yield  to  silence  and  decay  ; 

But  triumph  still  in  art 

And  act  thy  minstrel-part. 

Lifting  a  last,  long  pa3an 
To  the  unventured  empyrean. 

—  So  bid  the  world  go  by. 

And  they  who  list  to  thee  aright. 
Seeing  thee  fold  tliy  wings  and  fall,  shall  say  : 
"  Tlie   Songster  perished  of  his  own  delight !  " 

Edmund  Clakkxck  Stkdmax. 


SONG. 


C<».Mi-:  wirli   the  birds  in  tlie  spring. 

Tin  111  Avhose  voice  rivalleth  theirs  ; 
Come  with  the  flowers,  and  l)ring 

Sweet  shame  to  tlieir  bloom  unawares: 

C()iti(',  —  l)iil    <  ),    li(i\v   can    I    wait  I 
Come   Ihroiigli    tlic  snows  <>t  to-day! 

C'dMii'.   and    till'  gray    l'>ailli   elate 
Shall    leap    \^ni-   tli\    sake    into    .May  I 

IIauuikt  McKwkn   KninAir. 


IlIK    liAlIEFOOr    I'.OV. 


lilJ';sSlN<;s    oil    llicr.    little    liKlll. 
I'mrclixii    i>ii\.   Willi   clicck'   (il    tan  I 
Willi    lli\     tiiriic(l-ii|)    paiilaliidus. 
A  11(1    tli\     iiicri-\     wli'stlcd    t  illirs  : 
Willi    tli\     rcil    lip.    ivddci-   still 
1  IS 


THE   BAREFOOT   BOY  I49 

Kissed   by  strawberries  011  the  hill  ; 

With  the  sunshine  on  thv  face. 

Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace  ! 

From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy: 

I  was  once  a  barefoot  boy. 

Prince  thou  art  —  the  grown-up  man 

Only  is  republican. 

Let  the  million-dollarecl  ride  I 

Barefoot,  trudging  at  his  side, 

Thou  hast  more  than  he  can  buy. 

In  the  reach  of  ear  and  eye  : 

Outward  sunshine,  inward  joy. 

Blessings  on  thee,  barefoot  boy  I 

O  !  for  boyliood's  painless  play, 
Slee])  that  wakes  in  laughing  day. 
Health  that  mocks  the  doctor's  rules, 
Knowledge  never  learned  of  schools  : 
Of  the  wild  bee's  morning  chase, 
Of  the  wild  flower's  time  and  i)lace, 
Fliii'ht  of  fowl,  and   habitude 
Of  the  tenants  of  the  wood  ; 
HoAv  the  tortoise  bears  his  shell, 
How  the  woodchuck  digs  his  cell, 
And  the  ground-mole  sinks  his  well  ; 
How  the  robin  feeds  her  young, 
How  tlie  oriole's  nest  is  hung  ; 
Where  the  whitest  lilies  blow. 
Where  the  freshest  berries  grow, 
Wliere  the  ground-nut   ti'ails   its   vine. 
Where  the  wood-grape's  clusters  shine  ; 


150  THE   BAREFOOT   BOY. 

Of  the  black  wasp's  cunning  way. 
Mason  of  his  walls  of  clay, 
And  the  architectural  plans 
Of  gray  hornet  artisans  ! 
For,  eschewing  books  and  tasks. 
Nature  answers  all  he  asks  ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  he  walks. 
Face  to  face  with  her  he  talks. 
Part  and  parcel  of  her  joy. 
Blessings  on  the  barefoot  boy  ! 

0  for  boyhood's  titae  of  June, 
Crowding  years  in  one  brief  moon, 
When  all  things  I  heard  or  saw, 
Me,  their  master,  waited  for  ! 

1  was  rich  in  flowers  and  trees. 
Humming-birds  and  honey-bees  ; 
For  my  sport  the  squirrel  played. 
Plied  the  snouted  mole  his  spade  ; 
For  my  taste  the  blackberry  cone 
Purpled  over  hedge  and  stone  ; 
Laughed  the  brook  for  my  delight, 
Through  the  day  and  through  the  riight 
Whispering  at  the  garden  wall. 
Talked  with  me  from  fall  to  fall ; 
Mine  the  sand-rimmed  })ickerel  pond. 
Mine  the  walnut  slopes  beyond. 

Mine,  on  bending  orchard  trees. 
Apples  of  Hesperides  ! 
Still,  as  my  horizon  grew. 
Larger  grew  my  riches  too  , 


THE   BAREFOOT  BOY.  1,3 j 

All  the  world  I  saw  or  knew 
Seemed  a  coin})lex  Chinese  toy, 
Fashioned  for  a  barefoot  boy  I 

O,  for  festal  dainties  spread, 
Like  my   bowl  of  milk  and  bread. 
Pewter  spoon  and  bowl  of  wood, 
On  the  door-stone,  gray  and  rnde  ! 
O'er  me,  hke  a  regal  tent. 
Cloudy-ribbed,  the  sunset  Ijent : 
Purple-curtained,  fringed  with  gold, 
Looped  in  many  a  wind-swung  fold  ; 
While,  for  music,  came  the  play 
Of  the  [)ied  frogs'  orchestra  ; 
And,  to  light  the  noisy  choir. 
Lit  the  fly  his  lamp  of  fire. 
I  was  monarch  ;   ponij)  and  joy 
Waited  on  the  barefoot  boy  I 

Cheerily,  then,  my  little  man  ! 
Live  and  laugh  as  boyhood  can  ; 
Though  the  llinty  slopes  be  hard. 
Stubble-speared  the  new-mown  sward, 
Every   morn  shall  lead  thee  throuo-h 
Fresh  baptisms  of  the  dew  ; 
Every  evem'ng  from  tJiy  feet 
Shall  the  cool   wind   kiss  the  heat ; 
All  too  soon   tliese  feet  must  hide 
In   the   prisdn-cclls  of  jiridc, 
Lose  the  freedom  of  the  sod, 
Like  a  colt's  fur  work  be  shod, 


152  THE   RAILWAY  RIDE. 

Made  to  tread  the  mills  of  toil, 
Up  and  down  in  ceaseless  moil : 
Happy  if  their  track  be  found 
Never  on  forbidden  ground ; 
Happy  if  they  sink  not  in 
Quick  and  treacherous  sands  of  sin. 
Ah  I  that  thou  couldst  know  thy  joy, 
Ere  it  passes,  barefoot  boy  ! 

John  Gheexleaf  Whittier. 


THE   RAILWAY   RIDE. 

In  their  yachts  on  ocean  gliding. 
On  their  steeds  Arabian  riding. 
Whirled  o'er  snows  on  tinkling  sledges. 

Men  forget  their  woe  and  pain  ; 
What  the  pleasure  then  should  fill  them  — 
What  the  ecstasy  should  thrill  them  — 
Borne  with  ponderous  speed,  and  thunderous. 

O'er  the  narrow  iron  plain. 

Restless  as  a  dream  of  vengeance, 
Mark  you  there  the  iron  engines 
Blowing  steam  from  snorting  nostrils. 

Moving  each  upon  its  track  ; 
Sighing,  panting,  anxious,  eager, 
Not  with  purpose  mean  or  meagre. 
But  intense  intent  for  motion. 

For  the  liberty  they  lack. 


riii:  i;.\ii.\\AV  i;ii)i;. 

X(i\\    one   sci'caiiis    ill    1  riiini|>li.    U>r   tlic 
Eiiy,iut'-(lri\('r.   urinicd    jind   swai-tliv, 
Lays  liis   liaiul    upon   llic   lever, 

xKlld    tlic    sti'cd    is    loose    once    nioi"e  ; 
Off  it   moves,   and    fast    and    faster, 
With   no  lU'e'iuii-  from   the   master. 
Till  the  awed  earth   shakes   in   terror 

At  the  riunl'liii!''  and   the   roar. 


1  .V"; 


'^-^^^, 


('n»ssin<«-   loiiiJ-   and    llireaddike    lirid^es, 
S|taiiiiiiiL;,'   streams,   and    elea\in^'   ridi^'i's, 
Sweenine-  over   liroad    ;j;reen    ineaijows, 

'I'lial    in    starless   darkness    lay  — 
I  low   the   engine   roeks  and   clatters, 
Sliowers   of   lire   aroniid    it    scatters. 


154  THE  RAILWAY   RIDE. 

While  its  blazing  eye  outpeering 
Looks  for  perils  in  the  way. 

To  yon  tunnel-drift  careering, 

In  its  brown  mouth  disappearing, 

Past  from  sight  and  passed  from  hearing, 

Silence  follows  like  a  spell ; 
Then  a  sudden  sound-burst  surges, 
As  the  train  from  earth  emerges 
With  a  scream  of  exultation. 

With  a  wild  and  joyous  jeU. 

With  the  chariot  swift  of  Ares 
Which  a  god  to  battle  carries  ? 
What  the  steeds  the  rash  boy  handled 

Harnessed  to  the  sun-god's  wain  ? 
Those  are  mythic  ;  this  is  real ; 
Born  not  of  the  past  ideal, 
But  of  craft  and  strength  and  purjDOse, 

Love  of  speed  and  thirst  of  gain. 

O  !  what  wildness  !     O  !  what  o-ladness  ! 
O  !  what  joy  akin  to  madness ! 
O  !  what  reckless  feeling  raises 

Us  to-day  beyond  the  stars  ! 
What  to  us  all  human  ant-hills, 
Fame  fools  sigh  for,  land  that  man  tills, 
In  the  swinging  and  the  clattering 

And  the  rattling  of  the  cars  ? 

Thomas  Dux\  English. 


YE   MEANER  BEAUTIES. 

Ye  meaner  beauties  of  the  night, 

That  poorly  satisfy  our  eyes, 
More  by  your  numbers  than  your  lio;ht: 

Ye  common  people  of  the  skies ! 

What  are  you  when  the  moon  shall  rise '' 

Ye  violets  that  first  appear, 

By  your  pure  purple  mantles  known. 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  year, 
As  if  the  Spring  were  all  your  own ! 
What  are  you  when  the  rose  is  blown  ? 

Ye  curious  chanters  of  the  wood, 

That  warble  forth  Dame  Nature's  lays. 

Thinking  your  passions  understood 

By  your  weak  accents  !  —  what's  your  praise 
When  Philomel  her  voice  shall  raise  ? 

So  when  my  mistress  shall  be  seen 
in  sweetness  of  her  looks  and  mind, 

By  virtue  first,   Mion  clioice,  a  queen : 
Tell  me,  if  slie  was  not  designed 
Tir  echpse  and  gloiy  of  her  kinrl  ? 

SiK     IIlNKY     WoTTON. 


155 


THE   REVERIE   OF   TOOR   SUSAN. 

At  the  comer  of  Wood  Street,  when  dayh'glit  appears, 
Hauo's  a  tlirush  that  sino;s  h)ud  —  it  has  suno;  for  three  years ; 
Poor  Susan  lias  passed  by  the  spot,  and  has  lieard 
In  the  silence  of  mornino;  the  sono;  of  the  bird. 

'T  is  a  note  of  enchantment !  what  ails  her  ?     She  sees 
A  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees ; 
Bright  volumes  of  vapor  through  Lothbury  glide. 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views,  in  the  midst  of  the  dale 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped  with  her  pail ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves. 

She  looks  —  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven  !     But  they  fade  : 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the  shade. 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will  not  rise. 
And  the  colors  have  all  passed  away  from  her  eyes. 

William  Wordsworth. 


ir,G 


IIN'DEX  OF  FIRST  Li:^ES. 

— * — 

A. 

A   FEARLESS    SHAPE    OF    ERAVK    DEVICE Read. 

Ah  !    MY    HEART    IS    WEARV    WAITIXG McCaHhjJ . 

An  orphan  boy,  avith  weary  feet Rucckert . 

As    I    EAY    A-TinXKING,    A-TIIINKING,    A-THINKING Bai/iam. 

As    SHIPS    liECALMED    AT    EVE,    THAT    EAY Cloucjll . 

At    THE    CORNER   OF    WoOD    StIUOKT    'WIIEN    DAYLIGHT    APl'EARS..     .WordsWOrth. 

Awake  thee,  my  lady-love Darky . 

B. 

Bark,  that  bears  me  through  foam  and  scjuall Anonymous . 

Blessings  on  thee,  littli:  man Whittier. 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind  ! Shakespeare. 

Burly,  dozing,  humblebee  ! Emerson. 

By  scattered  rocks  and  turbid  waters  shifting llarte. 

C. 

Call  for  the  robin-redbreast  and  thi';  wren Webster . 

Come,  beauteous  da y  ! Hurlbut . 

Come  with  the  birds  in  the  spring Kimball. 

D. 

Day-stars!  that  ope  your  eyes  with  morn  to  twinKh^. .  ..Horace  Smith. 

DoivS    THE    ROAD    WIND    Ul'-IIILL    ALL    THE    WAV  ? C.    G.  Rossclti. 

1'. 

TaI  U    DAFFODILS,    WE    WEEP    TO    SEE JTcrrick. 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree Ilvrrick. 

G. 

God  does  not  send  us  strangio  flowers  every  year Whitney . 

Go,    LOVELY    ROSK  ! Widlcr . 

Green  little  vaults  in  the  kunny  skies Hunt. 

157 


PAGE 

112 

70 

78 
109 
107 
156 

97 

127 

148 

87 

G.3 

57 

76 
29 
147 

35 
129 

61 
GO 

14:3 
112 


158 


INDEX   OF   FIRST  LINES. 


H. 

IIaIUv!     All,    THE    NIGHTINGALE Arnold. 

Heu  eyes  the  glow-worme  lend  thee Hcrvich. 

How    THICK    THE    WILD    FLOWEKS    I3LOW    ABOUT    OUR    FEET Trench. 

I. 

I  AM  THIS  fountain's  GOD.     Beloav Fletcher. 

I    ARISE    FROM    DREAMS    OF    THEE ShcllciJ . 

I    COME    FROM    HAUNTS    OF    COOT    AND    HERN Tcnill/XOn  . 

If  all  were  rain  and  never  sun C.  G.  Rossdti. 

If  thou  WILT  ease  thine  HEART Becklocs . 

I  have  SEEN  A  nightingale De  Villegas . 

I    IN    THESE    FLOWERY    MEADS    WOULD    BE  ; Wcilton . 

In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes Emerson. 

In  summer,  when  the  days  were  long Anonymous . 

In  their  y'achts  on  ocean  gliding Enj/Iish. 

1  passed  before  her  garden  gate Bradley . 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus Lonfifellow. 

I   WANDERED    BIT    THE    BROOICSIDE MihiCS . 

K. 

KuLNASATZ,  MY  REINDEER Anonymous . 

L. 

Look  not  thou  on  Beauty's  charming Scott. 

Love  in  my'  boso:\i,  like  a  bee Loihje. 

M. 

May'  !  queen  of  blossoms Thurlow . 

My  life  is  like  the  summer  rose Wilde. 

My  soul  to-day luud. 

o. 

O'er  Tin;  iii;av  old  (!erman  city (rrcenouyh. 

0  faint,  Ki'.Mciois  spring-time  violet Slury . 

(Jr  a'   the    AllilS  'illE   WIND   CAN   BLAW .Biims. 

O    nightingale,    THAT    ON    YON    BLOOMY'    SPRAY M illon  . 

O    PATIENT    SHORE,    THAT    CANST    NOT    GO    TO    MEET //.    IT.  . 

0    READER  !    HAST    THOU    EVER    STOOD    TO    SEE SoiUhey . 

0   ROSE  !    WHO    DAREf?    T6    NAME    THEE Mrs.   /Imiruillll . 


PAGE 
10 

31 
73 


68 
72 
94 

130 

100 
62 

116 
40 
44 

152 
6 

133 
50 


122 

11 
47 

39 

77 
101 

18 
46 
66 
117 
58 
23 
89 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES.  150 

PAGE 

O,    SING    UNTO    31 Y    ROUNnKI.A  Y ChdttcrtOll ....  1  ()") 

O    THE    WKE    GRKEX    NliUK,    THE    SLY    GREEN    NKLK ButleiJ .  .  .  .  140 

P. 

Piped  the  blackiuku  on  the  beechwood  si'i:ay  : Westwood 52 

Q. 

Queen  and  hintress,  chaste  and  fair Jonson ....  Ill 

K. 

TJattli:  the  window,   winds   Stoddard. ...  14 

River  !  my  river,  in  the  young  sunshine  ! Mocrike 91 

S. 

Seek  me  the  cave  of  silver O'Brien ....  74 

See,  see  !     She  wakes  —  Sabina  wakes  ! Conrjrcve ....  1  .'5 

Stony-browed  Dwina,  thy  face  is  as  flint  ! Orloff' 118 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air Tennyson ....  07 

Sweet  day-  !  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright Ifcrbcrl. ...  48 

T. 

The  cros.sbeam  of  the  Old  South  bell Willis. ...  15 

The  gowan  glitters  on  the  sward liitillie 17 

The  grass  that  is  under  me  now Stoddard. ...  0 

The  groves  were  God's  first  temples.     Ere  man  learned Bryant 1 

The  merry,  merry  lark  was  up  and  singing C.  Kingsley 1.'52 

The  snow  lies  fresh  on  Chester  Hill G.  II.  Barnes ....  1.37 

The  summer  floats  on  even  wing Busluidl 09 

The  wanton  troopers,  riding  by Marod  . . .  25 

The  world  goes  up,  and  the  world  goes  down Kini/siiy  ...  49 

TiiEV  walked  beside  the  summer  sea II  inter. . . .  S:^ 

Throl-gh  the  NKiiiT,  TiiitouiMi  THE  NIGHT Stwidard .  ...  98 

Tm.ei:,   Tiger,  burning   brkmit niahe.. . .  90 

Trickles  fast  tiii;  Apiml  shower Author  of"  Tiie  Ajhnjlow  " I'-'i". 

U. 

Up!  quit  tiiv  bower!  late  wears  the  hour Badlie....  I'il 

Up  Tin.    Mi:v  mountain Alliwjham . . . .  41 

w. 

Waking  in  .May,  the  peach-tree  Tiioniiii '/•  T'.  Dodrje.  . . .  8G 

What  thought  is  folded  in  thy  leaves  !. Mdnrh . . . ,  55 

Wll\T    WOIM,I>    VOII    PEI-     ir    I    T'-OK     NOI'    II' Mnr/l«„nld .Tl 


160  INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES. 

When  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue Shakespeare  ■ . 

When  nature  tries  her  finest  touch Kehle. . 

When  spaerows  build,  and  the  leaves  break  forth Ingdow. . 

Where  is  the  grave  of  Sir  Arthur  O'Kellyn  1 Coleridye. . 

Why  do  ye  weep,  sweet  babes  ?     Can  tears Hern'ck . . 

Winter's  wild  biethnight  !    In  the  fretful  east Holland. . 

Within  our  summer  hermitage Stedman . . 


PAGE 

12 
123 

84 
121 

59 

33 
143 


Y. 

Ye  living  lamps,  by  whose  dear  light Marvell. ...     140 

Ye  meaner  beauties  of  the  night Wotton ....     155 


•A^-'wV.,C_-' 


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